Resurrection of Evil
by GilFeir
Summary: After the harrowing experiences in Mirkwood, Aragorn returns to the Dunedain. When Legolas visits him, dark dreams start to haunt Aragorn. Will tragedy strike again? Slash
1. Stranger in the Night

Title: Resurrection of Evil

Rating: T (for graphic images, smut and violence)

Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any of the characters or related trademarks. I make no profit with this story.

Warning: Much smut and A/L. Explicit scenes. Violence.

Summary: After the harrowing experiences in Mirkwood, Aragorn returns to the Dunedain. When Legolas visits him, dark dreams start to haunt Aragorn. Will tragedy strike again?

A/N: Here it is, the new story!! Thanks for all the support!! This story continues where ***Something wicked this way comes*** ended. It is set a few months after Legolas's arrival in Rivendell after the gruesome attacks in Mirkwood. The reading order of my stories is as follows:

_~Season's Tales~_

A Winter's Tale

A Spring's Tale

A Summer's Tale

An Autumn's Tale

_~The Black Heart ~_

Something wicked this way comes

Resurrection of Evil

* * *

Chapter 1: Stranger in the night

Aragorn was exhausted. With his hood drawn deep into his face, his shoulders hunched and his whole body bent low over the neck of his steed, he braced the raging winter storm as best as he could. The howling wind lashed tiny ice crystals at him from all sides, and Aragorn had long ago surrendered to the fact that he could not entirely protect his face from the harsh cold. His cheeks and nose were red from the chill in the air, while his lips felt frozen. He was not sure if he could move them even if he wanted to. But the small village of the rangers he was headed to was only a few hours ride away, and if nothing untoward happened he would reach it before midnight. The plains around him darkened with the sinking sun, and Aragorn knew that it would be wiser to stop and wait until morn before riding on. But he was cold, and tired, and wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep for a week. And so, he huddled deeper into his cloak, turned his head away from the freezing wind, and rode on.

It had been a few months since Aragorn had left Imladris and returned to the village the rangers had established many decades ago in The Angle, only a day's ride south of the ford at the Bruinen. The village was well hidden between the rolling hills of Rhudaur, and few travelers strayed that far from the road. No paths led straight to it, no signs pointed the way. But those who knew where to look easily found their way to it. Aragorn's parents had lived there, and his uncle and cousins still did. Whenever Aragorn rode with the rangers, he stayed in his parent's old house, which had been unoccupied since the days he had been brought to Rivendell at the age of two. Aragorn had made good friends in the village, and although it still did not feel like 'home' to him, he always felt a thrill of anticipation when he entered it.

Not so this time. When Aragorn joined the rangers before the first snowfall of the last year, he was loath to do so. Not because of the fact that the village was not home to him, nor because of the prospect of long and arduous patrols that awaited him. No, he was not so much loath to join the rangers, but to leave Imladris. Legolas had been in Imladris. It had been a surprise and a relief to Aragorn when he had learned that Legolas had come to Rivendell last autumn, to try and mend their relationship. They had talked, talked a lot to be precise, and when autumn had slowly turned into winter, Aragorn had been sure that their relationship had a begun to heal.

They both felt strongly for the other, felt a connection between them that only strengthened through the time apart. And then there was the passion neither could deny. Aragorn had longed to touch Legolas, to be close to him, to share with him the love and affection, that burning desire that always flowed through his veins when he was near him. But he had not given in to this desire, and neither had Legolas. Both knew that their bond had been threatened and damaged in Mirkwood, and they had silently come to the decision that they wanted to mend the bond on a purely non-physical basis. Passion was a good way to heal a broken heart, but this healing would not last. Only when they both _wanted_ to heal the mind, to be friends and brothers in arms again, could they also be lovers again. And if he was completely honest with himself, Aragorn had to acknowledge that he had not been ready to be intimate with someone. Not after what Lithdal had done to him. To open up to Legolas verbally had been difficult enough. To give himself completely, to yield to another…that had been too difficult at the time.

And then the rangers had asked for his return ere he had felt ready. Now, many months later, Aragorn regretted that he had not lain with Legolas. It had been over a year now, and Aragorn began to forget how it was. Whenever he thought about him at night, he felt his love and passion rise, and he wanted nothing more than to climb on his steed and head to Mirkwood. He missed Legolas. And not only the intimacy they used to share in bed, but also their conversations. Legolas had become his confident, and Aragorn missed sharing his thoughts and feelings. Alas, Legolas had returned to Mirkwood the same day Aragorn had returned to the rangers, and he hadn't heard of him since. His brothers had written to him and reassured him that Legolas arrived in Mirkwood safe and sound, but since then communication with Rivendell had been sparse.

It was mostly due to Aragorn's own busy schedule. Shortly upon arriving in the village he left again on a patrol that took far longer than he had anticipated. As soon as he returned, he was summoned to a ranger camp near Tharbad, where he had been snowed in. He had been unable to return to the village or send any message North. Now, in early February, the snow had thinned and Aragorn had immediately left for the village. It was still cold and he knew that the winter was not over yet, but that could not deter him. In his packs he carried letters to family members of the rangers who stayed behind in Tharbad, as well as a few letters of his own. He had written to Legolas during the dark, cold and long nights he had stayed in Tharbad, but had been unable to send. He had not yet decided if he would send them, and he was too tired at the moment to think about it. All he wanted now, after days of riding through the snow and cold, was to fall into his bed and sleep.

A few hours later, Aragorn's equally tired horse climbed a small snow covered hill. Looking down, his face numb from the cold, Aragorn finally made out the tiny orange glow of torches. Beneath him, the village nested between two rolling hills that were but dark shadows in the night. Sighing in relief, Aragorn pressed his knees into his horse's flanks. They made their way slowly down the hill, and when they reached the wooden palisade that protected the village from wild beasts and the worst of the storm, Aragorn could barely keep his eyes from sliding shut. Valar, he was tired. He gave the password and the guard let him enter, greeting him warmly upon recognizing him. Aragorn merely nodded his head tiredly, then led his horse towards the common stable. He dismounted awkwardly, for his thighs were numb with cold. His fingers barely managed the saddle belt, but he diligently brushed his horse down, gave him food and water and some treats, before he shouldered his packs and left for his own bed.

*****

Legolas was shrouded in near complete darkness when he woke. His keen elven eyes had no problem in piercing the darkness, but he saw no intruder. What had woken him? For a moment, he lay completely still, listening. A scraping sound reached his ears and immediately Legolas was on his feet, his hand reaching out for his dagger. Silently he made his way over to the door and opened it just enough so that he could look out. What he saw made his heart jump faster in his chest. A smile formed on his lips, but it wavered and Legolas was suddenly nervous.

He watched as the door to the small house was pushed open. Rain and snow were blown in, before a tall figure appeared in the doorway. The door was closed rather slowly, the bolt automatically slid shut to keep the door from being blown open by the storm. Legolas watched as Aragorn leaned against the door for a moment, his shoulders slumped and his proud back hunched in exhaustion. The smile faded from Legolas's lips as he watched his friend and lover, whom he had not seen in months, settle his packs on a stool, before he slowly peeled himself out of his wet leather overcoat. His movements were slow and stiff, as if he was hurting all over. Apparently Aragorn was so tired, that he did not even notice the glowing embers of a fire in the hearth, a hearth that should by all means be dark and cold.

When Legolas had pictured Aragorn's return and their reunion, he had not imagined _this_ scene. Legolas had reached the village but a few days ago. The winter in Mirkwood had not been as harsh as in the last years, and when he had learned that at least one pass over the Misty Mountains was, well not free of snow but passable, he had left Mirkwood behind to see Aragorn. He had missed him, oh Valar he missed him so much. When they had parted in Rivendell so many months ago, Legolas had felt as if there were still a lot of things left unspoken, as if there were things that had been left in the dark. That feeling had tormented him, urging him to go and see Aragorn as soon as possible. And of course, Legolas had felt the bodily pull as well. It had been more than a year since he had last lain with Aragorn, and he missed their shared passion almost as much as he missed Aragorn's shy smile and shining eyes.

He had never been in this Dunedain village before, and the twin sons of Lord Elrond had accompanied him here, ere they had left for the Grey havens to meet with old friends that lived there. The rangers had welcomed him with open arms. It seemed that Aragorn had told tales of his and Elladan's and Elrohir's adventures, and the rangers knew that Aragorn and he were good friends. Because of their close friendship, the rangers had given him Aragorn's house to stay in until Aragorn's return. That they were lovers too, they did of course not know. While bonds between males were acceptable in elvish culture, it was an abnormality among humans. Legolas knew not whether the Dunedain followed the elvish or the human way, but Aragorn had never told him of relationships of people of the same gender among the Dunedain. Therefore, Legolas had kept quiet.

Legolas had been surprised to find out that the house was not very big. It consisted of but two rooms, a larger living room, with a hearth and cooking area, and a bedroom. In the living room stood a wooden table, its surface polished by frequent use, as well as a low bench and two stools. A small cupboard held a few pots and plates. The bedroom had a bed, complete with a straw filled mattress and blankets and furs. A large wooden chest with metal fittings stood under a small window. A low table held a chandelier. There were no personal belongings in the house, no pictures, no books, no signs that anyone lived here. Had it not been for the few pieces of clothing that Legolas had found in the chest, he would have thought the house unoccupied. It had saddened Legolas's heart to see this house; compared to Aragorn's quarters in Rivendell, this house seemed cold and lifeless. Love-less.

No one had been able to tell him when Aragorn would return, for they had had no word from the camp near Tharbad. Legolas had hoped that Aragorn would return soon, but he had not anticipated that he would truly come home so soon. The journey from the South was a long and hard one, and with the snow and cold, it would be truly dangerous. Legolas had thought that Aragorn would wait for warmer weather. Indeed, he had already made plans to leave for Tharbad himself, seeing that elves were less susceptible to the cold.

Those plans were now rendered unnecessary. Aragorn had returned to the village. Legolas watched with rising worry as Aragorn slowly shrugged out of his wet tunic, letting the piece of clothing fall to the ground with a dull thud. He was shivering. Although it was dark, Legolas could see that Aragorn had lost weight over the winter; his shirt and breeches were too big for him. Aragorn removed his sword belt and daggers, laying them carefully on the table. He made sure that the leather was not knotted in any way, his sword and daggers not too wet from the cold. It was a testimony to Legolas of the dangers his friend had faced these last few months; Aragorn was practically dead on his feet, too tired to care whether his pack was sodden with snow or his tunic laying on the dusty floor…but he cared for his weapons, no matter what, for he knew of the possibility that he could need them in the middle of the night.

Next, Aragorn sat down heavily on the low bench. Legolas's heart clenched painfully in his chest as he watched how Aragorn rested his elbows on his knees and placed his weary head in his hands. The young human sighed deeply and moved his hands through his wet hair, obviously at the end of his strength. It was enough; Legolas could take no more. He wanted to hold his friend and lover, take away his pain, his weakness. It was painful to see his strong and proud lover so….vulnerable.

With another deep sight, Aragorn leaned down and began to nestle at the sodden and icy lacings of his well worn boots. In but two long strides, Legolas was at his side and sank into a kneeling position. He placed his warm hands over Aragorn's, stilling their motion. Startled, Aragorn glanced up, his hands automatically reaching for his weapons. But Legolas held his hands in his. Blue eyes met surprised grey, and Legolas spoke softly, "Here, let me do this, Estel." And with but a few quick movements, Legolas removed the sodden boots from Aragorn's feet. Placing Aragorn's feet gently on the ground, Legolas looked up at his friend. Aragorn had neither moved nor spoken. Slowly, Legolas began to question his decision to come to the village and surprise Aragorn. Maybe he should have stayed in Mirkwood….send word first….

"Legolas." It was but a whisper, but the disbelief and surprise was clearly audible in Aragorn's voice. Looking up into the tired grey orbs, Legolas nodded his head. "You are here." Aragorn said, and slowly, a smile formed on his lips. "You are here." He repeated, then reached out and stroked Legolas's cheek. "Aye, I'm here, Estel. I missed you." Slowly, Legolas moved closer; his eyes shone bright with the relief he felt at Aragorn's obvious delight upon seeing him.

"I missed you too, Legolas." Aragorn whispered, his lips barely moving. And before both knew it, their lips met in a slow kiss, which was tender and loving and oh so deliciously reminiscent of their past. They stayed thus for a long moment, their lips touching and tongues stroking, before Legolas drew back. Gazing into Aragorn's face, he saw the happiness that shone in his eyes, but also the deep exhaustion. He got to his feet and held a hand out to help Aragorn up.

"Come to bed, Estel."

Legolas closed the bedroom door behind them and helped Aragorn to remove his shirt, breeches and socks. Valar, the young man's skin was cold to the touch, and he was shivering. Legolas quickly ushered him under the blankets and then quickly climbed in beside him. Instinctively, Aragorn sought his warmth and snuggled up to him, but he kept shivering. Admittedly, it was not very warm in the bedroom. Legolas wrapped Aragorn up in his arms and stroked his back, while he continued to place tiny kissed on his tousled hair and face. In response, Aragorn snuggled up closer, but the exhaustion of the journey and the long winter finally caught up with him. Within but a few moments, Aragorn fell asleep, secure in Legolas's arms. Legolas held him close, and while he drifted off to elvish dreams, he thought that he had not been this close to Aragorn since before Winter solstice, more than a year ago.

*****

Morning had not yet dawned and the roosters were still sleeping peacefully when Aragorn woke. At first, he stayed motionless, reveling in the sensation of being warm again. He had almost forgotten that feeling during the long and hard winter. While his senses became fully alert, he also noticed the pains and aches in his body. His shoulders and legs hurt from the constant strain of riding, and there was also a dull headache forming behind his eyes, reminding him that he hadn't drunken enough or slept enough these last few days. Sighing, he stretched his limbs…only to realize that he was not alone. Startled, Aragorn snapped his eyes open, only to be met by amused blue orbs.

It was still dark in the room, and for a moment, Aragorn felt his heart beat in his throat as memories flooded his head, but then his suddenly wide awake mind supplied him with a name: '_Legolas_', and Aragorn could not help but smile up at the beautiful face above him. His head rested upon Legolas's shoulder, and his right arm was draped over Legolas's chest, while his body was cuddled up close to Legolas's slender figure. It felt good, it felt safe…and it felt right. Aragorn sighed once more, this time in happiness, and rested his head back on Legolas's shoulder and closed his eyes.

A moment later, he became aware of long fingers stroking his bare back, up and down, and then in small circles. In the darkness of the room and the near complete silence, Aragorn could hear his own heartbeat hammer in his chest. He was well aware of his state of nakedness. And the closeness to Legolas was triggering some feelings in him that had long lain dormant. Oh, had Legolas always smelled that delicious? Of green grass and giant trees? Of summer and wildflowers, of leather and hay? It was an intoxicating scent, and Aragorn took a deep breath before releasing it slowly. He could not remember that Legolas had ever smelled so inviting.

For a second, the long fingers stopped their stroking, and Aragorn felt a tremble race through Legolas's body. A moment later, the elf shifted under him, and then the fingers resumed their gentle stroking. But now, feeling Legolas so close and having missed him for so long, Aragorn felt heat built in his lower regions. Even the simple fact of feeling Legolas's fingers on his shoulders, of smelling his unique scent, awaked Aragorn's desire for his lover.

With his eyes still closed, he placed his lips against Legolas neck, surprised when this simple gesture elicited a sharp intake of breath from the elf. He felt another shiver race through Legolas's body and the caressing of his shoulders stopped abruptly. Worried that he had done something wrong, Aragorn looked up at Legolas's face. What he saw made his blood heat up and pool in his lower regions. Legolas's eyes were filled with pure love…and a great amount of lust. The blue orbs had darkened with the emotion. But Legolas waited, his eyes showing his questions, as well as his hesitation. But Aragorn wanted Legolas, too, was tired of his hesitations. He reached up and engulfed Legolas's lips with his own.

Their kiss turned passionate, and a few moments later Legolas's clothing landed in a heap on the floor. They touched and kissed and explored, slow and tender, but with passion. They had to rediscover the other's body, and they took their time. Neither of them spoke a single word, for no words were needed. A long while later, Legolas rolled atop of Aragorn, who automatically spread his legs to accommodate his lover. Letting his lips nibble at the soft skin of Aragorn's neck, Legolas let his fingers wander downwards and around Aragorn's slender waist. But when his fingers touched Aragorn's entrance, he stopped, unsure whether to go on or not.

He met Aragorn's gaze questioningly, and for a moment he saw hesitation, even a tiny amount of fear in the grey orbs. They had not loved each other for more than a year, after all. But then Aragorn kissed him and slung his arms around his neck. And when he ended the kiss, his nose touched Legolas's in but the briefest of touches, but it was unmistakable that Aragorn wanted him to continue. And so Legolas did, but he took his time and went slow. When he finally breached the young man, he did so as slowly as he could, letting Aragorn adjust to the sensation. Only when Aragorn moaned under him, bucking his hips eagerly and therewith urging Legolas to go on, did Legolas unleash his own passion. They came quick and powerful, just seconds after each other. And before Aragorn let Legolas withdraw himself from him, he took his face in his hands and kissed him sweetly.

Wrapping themselves in the blankets and furs, Legolas spooned behind Aragorn, and they fell into a deep slumber, their arms entwined. All was well again.

*****

When Aragorn woke next, milky light streamed through the curtains. Somewhere behind the window, a dog barked happily, perhaps chasing a goose or getting his breakfast. Yawning, Aragorn shifted his weight in Legolas's arms. The elf's strong arms tightened immediately, holding him close. A feathery kiss was placed on his neck, and a whispered "Good morning, Estel." reached his ears. Aragorn smiled and slowly stroked Legolas's bare arm. This felt so good. It was almost as if he was still dreaming, and if it was so, then Aragorn never wanted to wake up.

They lay thus for some more minutes, enjoying the silence and their closeness. But they could not ignore their state of nakedness for long; they had been apart for too long, and now that they had rediscovered each other, they longed to touch and nip, to hold and be held. Legolas let his warm hand travel across Aragorn's taut stomach, drawing small circles around his belly button. Meanwhile, his lips nuzzled the soft skin at Aragorn's neck, causing the young man to sigh softly.

Enjoying the tender kisses, and especially the warmth of Legolas's lips on his skin, Aragorn felt himself sink deeper into the mattress. His tiredness forgotten, he cleared his mind, so that he only felt – not thought about – the sensations that flooded his body. Legolas's kisses became warmer, his tongue gently teased his jaw. When Legolas's hand moved lower, stroking his thigh, up and down, Aragorn felt the heat pool in his groin. Oh, how he wanted this. How he had missed Legolas.

Reaching down, Aragorn closed his fingers around Legolas's hand and guided him to his half erect shaft. Moaning himself, Legolas began to stroke him, while he tried his best to not rub his own erect member against Aragorn's backside. He wanted Aragorn to enjoy this as much as he would, and he did not want to rush things. But Valar, it was not easy. Aragorn felt his shaft pulsate with heat, and small tremors raced through his body. Again and again Legolas flicked his slender fingers over the head of it, and it was driving him crazy. Tendrils of molten lava seemed to shoot through him with every stroke, and Aragorn could not keep the lust filled moan from spilling from his lips.

Behind him, Legolas felt his own member swell and pound, and when Aragorn's lust filled moan reached his ears, he felt his hips buck automatically against Aragorn. Feeling Legolas's proud length bump against him, Aragorn bit his lip. This was blissful torture. But he knew that he would come undone soon, and he rather wanted to feel Legolas inside him when he did. So, he took Legolas's hand that still stroked him, and guided it towards his thigh, then down his leg. It took Legolas but a second to understand. He shifted behind Aragorn, his hand guiding Aragorn's leg forwards, bending the knee at just the right angle. With nimble fingers he probed and gently stretched him, all the while kissing him senseless. Their noses touched for a brief moment, and then Legolas entered him in one long thrust.

Moaning, Aragorn felt himself being filled, and pure pleasure flooded his mind. He pressed his hips backwards, encouraging Legolas to move. And Legolas did, pounding in him in rhythmical thrusts. With each thrust Legolas hit the spot deep inside him, and Aragorn felt the world spin around him. He closed his eyes. Behind his eyelids, red and orange dots chased each other, and when Legolas reached around and resumed his stroking, Aragorn felt as if he would slowly burn from inside. The heat crawled through his body and centered in his groin, making him moan hoarsely. He pushed back, again and again, and behind him Legolas lost his rhythm, his thrusts becoming quicker and stronger. Heat and color and pleasure, Legolas's quick warm breaths on his sweaty skin, sensation and bliss pooling in his shaft…It was too much.

With a choked moan Aragorn found his release.

_And suddenly, the world around him vanished completely. Instead of the red and orange dots Aragorn had seen before, white flashed before his eyes. The white slowly turned into a light blue, then a grey. Shapes materialized out of the grey, tall and slender, and Aragorn saw that it were persons. There were other shapes, maybe a mountain or a house. Other colors entered the picture, but before Aragorn could make them out or recognize the persons, the picture faded until there was only black left._

"Estel? Can you hear me?" Legolas's slightly worried voice reached his ears and Aragorn blinked his eyes open. He was looking at the wooden ceiling above him, before Legolas's beautiful face entered his vision. "Welcome back, melethron (lover)." Legolas gave him a kiss, before he settled down beside him and drew him into his arms.

"What happened?" Aragorn asked, still a little bit confused. Beside him, Legolas laughed merrily. "You blackened out during your release. That happens." He gave him another kiss. Aragorn was stunned; this had never happened before. "It does?" Legolas nodded, "Happened to me as well when I was younger. It shows me how much you love me." Aragorn had no problem to hear the smile in Legolas's voice. But before he could reply, a huge yawn broke free, causing Legolas to give him another kiss. "Sleep, Estel, it is still early." And Aragorn did as he was bid. Snuggling deeper into Legolas's arms, he rested his head on the elf's shoulder and drifted off to sleep. His last thought was, though, that blackening out while being bedded surely did not include seeing strange pictures.

It was already midmorning when Aragorn finally left the bed. Stretching his arms, legs and back, he found that his joints and muscles ached, but not very painfully but merely uncomfortably. Washing and shrugging into clean clothing, Aragorn stepped out of the bedroom and into the bigger living room, where it was markedly warmer, due to the fire that burned in the hearth. The smell of porridge lay in the air, and Aragorn's empty stomach growled.

Turning to face him, Legolas smiled and got up from his perch on the low wooden bench. "Good morning again, Estel." He crouched down near the hearth and pulled an earthen bowl from beside it. Taking a spoon, he brought the bowl to the table and gestured for Aragorn to sit down. "I fear the porridge is not hot anymore, but it is, at least, still warm." His smile widened, "I had not thought you would sleep _this_ long." While Aragorn sat down and took his first spoonful of warm porridge, Legolas poured him a cup of tea.

"Well," Aragorn mumbled, enjoying the first warm meal since he had left the camp at Tharbad, "I already _was_ tired when I came home. I had not thought I would have to engage in sport tonight." But his smile was so genuinely happy and bright, that Legolas could only laugh merrily. Sitting down across from him, he resumed the polishing of his twin daggers.

"How late is it, anyway?" Aragorn asked, sipping at the tea. Light streamed through the single window of the room, but the window held no glass but merely thick paper. It was impossible to tell with accuracy how late it was.

Placing one of his daggers on the table and lifting the other one, Legolas answered, "Two hours to midday. The morning is almost gone, but worry not, no one is expecting to see you before noon." Aragorn was surprised at this news. Usually, when he returned from a patrol or trip, his cousin Halbarad would knock at his door first thing in the morning, demanding to hear about his trip and make sure that he was not injured or otherwise faring less than well. When Legolas saw Aragorn's dubious countenance, he elaborated, "You cousin, young Halbarad, was here this morning, asking about you. I told him that you were exhausted and needed your sleep."

"Oh." Aragorn said, moved by Legolas's thoughtfulness. Eating the last spoonful of porridge, he stood and brought his bowl over to the small kitchen area, where he cleaned the bowl and spoon with some water. A silence fell over them, and suddenly it became slightly uncomfortable. Turning, Aragorn leaned back against the small cupboard that stood at the wall and gazed at his friend and lover. Last night and this morning had been pure bliss. So long had he dreamed about seeing Legolas again, of being close to him, and now that his dream had come true, he wondered how he could ever have felt any reservations about their relationship.

True, things had changed between them, but their time together in Rivendell before winter had healed most of the wounds that had been inflicted. But the sharing of their bodies, the pure physical binding that had taken place the night before, that had been the final step to heal the scars they had both sustained. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth as Aragorn realized this. He shook his head as he thought about it, about how easy it could have been. Had he only been strong enough to allow this step before he had returned to the rangers. His eyes became vacant as he thought about the pain it must have caused Legolas to return to Mirkwood without this last step being taken. How much hurt could have been prevented. Suddenly unsure of his status in Legolas's regard, Aragorn looked down at the ground.

"Estel?" Legolas's voice ripped him out of his musings. Looking up, he saw that the elf glanced at him with a frown. "Are you well, melethron?" The elf asked, for he had obviously seen something in Aragorn's eyes that worried him. Aragorn pushed away from the cupboard and slid onto the bench beside Legolas. He took Legolas's face in his hands and kissed him very, very gently. Legolas returned the kiss, sneaking his arms around Aragorn's slender waist. "Aye" Aragorn said, "I'm well now." Gazing into Aragorn's grey eyes, Legolas felt his heart mend in all aspects.

While the morning progressed, Legolas related how he had not been able to stay in Mirkwood, that the twins had accompanied him here ere they had ridden to the Grey Havens, and how he had waited for Aragorn to return to the village. Aragorn listened intently, relishing in Legolas's sweet voice, while he unpacked his packs, mended his clothing and sharpened his blades. There was always so much to do after a long stay away from civilization…

"Oh, and before I forget," Legolas said, leaning back against the wall in his back, "young Halbarad invited us to a hunt tomorrow. He said the larders are nearly empty."

"Halbarad is two years older than me." Aragorn replied, pouting just a bit. "If you call him '_young_', then what am I?" Legolas looked at him fondly, "You are perfect, Estel. But see, all Edain are young in my eyes." Aragorn merely shook his head and rolled his eyes, used to these kind of remarks from his brothers. Instead, he thought about the hunt.

"A hunt sounds good." He finally replied, "It has been what- almost half a day? – since I was out in the cold. I cannot wait!" He grinned at Legolas and the elf snorted at his sarcasm. "Well, the hunt will keep you warm, Estel." He sallied back, his eyes shoving a loving glow, before they dulled somewhat, "And stocking up the larders is a good idea, I think. You need fattening up."

Aragorn growled but did not contradict Legolas's words. He _had_ lost weight during the winter, not as much as during his time in Mirkwood, but enough to make his breeches hang baggy at his waist. But still, even the mere thought of going out into the cold again made him shiver involuntarily. He hoped the winter would not last much longer.

That afternoon, Aragorn spoke with his cousin Halbarad about the things that had happened in his absence, as well as the upcoming hunt. While Aragorn was the Chieftain of the Dunedain of the North, Halbarad's father Halgel ruled and guided the rangers most of the time. Halgel was the younger brother of Aragorn's late father Arathorn, and had led the rangers since his untimely death. While this responsibility theoretically now rested on Aragorn's shoulders, Halgel practically led the rangers until Aragorn had learned enough to make well considered, just decisions. But that did not mean that his opinion was worth nothing, for his uncle tried to ask his opinion on any and all things, slowly preparing him for the daunting task of being the true and only Chieftain of the Dunedain.

Over a cup of tea, Halbarad nudged his arm and gave him a glowing look, "Is he really a prince?" He asked excitedly, and Aragorn knew of whom he was speaking without having to ask. He nodded his head, "Aye, he is. His father is King Thranduil of Mirkwood, and Legolas is his only son. He is the crown prince and will – mayhap – one day rule the Kingdom."

"Amazing." Halbarad said, shaking his head. "I have never met a true Prince before." And in his voice swung so much adoration, that Aragorn could not even be angry with him. For, after all, was he not to be King?

To Aragorn's immense relief, no one commented on the sleeping arrangements or suggested that Legolas, now that Aragorn had returned, moved into a guest quarter. In these times of snow and ice, it was normal that family members or close friends slept in one and the same room, more often than not even in the same bed. And seeing that male-male relationships were uncommon among the Dunedain, no one suspected anything untoward. Not that either Aragorn nor Legolas would have been bothered by it, but why cause disaccord among the Dunedain when there was no need to?

Also, Aragorn distributed the letters he had brought from the rangers who were not as lucky as he and had to stay behind in the camp near Tharbad. They had written to their families, wives and children, wishing them well and promising to come home soon. The rangers would be relieved before summer, and therefore their promises to return soonest were taken by heart.

When Aragorn lay in bed that night, snuggled up to Legolas, with his head resting on the elf's shoulder, he could not keep the smile away from his face. Everything had turned out better than he could have wished for. He had returned to The Angle safe and sound, Legolas was here with him, and they had both overcome the chasm that had opened up between them, and were as close as they had been before. Everything was well.

So well, that Aragorn forgot the pictures he had seen during his coupling with Legolas. Had he known what they meant, he would have suffered from a sleepless night.

To be continued.


	2. Dangerous dreams

Chapter 2: Dangerous dreams

Early the next morning, even before the roosters awakened, Aragorn bundled himself up in his thick leather coat, strapped on his sword and shouldered his bow. Together with Legolas, he left the relatively warm house behind and approached the group of hunters that waited outside of the stables. They greeted them warmly, slapping their shoulders in welcome. The horses were saddled, the packs strapped on. Everything happened in rather subdued and quiet tones, for the men did not want to wake the otherwise sleeping village. Once the horses were ready, the herders gathered the dogs, mounted as well, and off they were into the darkness.

The group consisted of five hunters, three herders and one ranger who was responsible for the horse that would carry their game back to the village. He would stay behind and prepare the game, while the rest of the group continued hunting. They were all experienced hunters, and the prospect of the hunt slowly crept into their very bones, letting them forget the unholy hour and the icy cold. Oh aye, it was very cold that early morning, for no cloud veiled the velvet black sky, and the myriads of stars glimmered and sparkled overhead, reflecting on the white snow. They would have no problem in finding their prey. Their anticipation grew with every step the horses took.

Aragorn rode in the middle of the group, while Halbarad, Halbarad's father and another ranger rode in the front. The herder came last, so that the hounds would not trouble the horses overmuch. They rode in silence, and more than an hour later they reached a small wood that lay to the south of the village. They dismounted and distributed the hunting area. Aragorn and Legolas would head further south, Halbarad and the other ranger east and Halbarad's father west, together with the herders. Seeing that the sun would rise in but an hour, they quickly spread and vanished into the dark.

It proved to be a successful hunt; by midday, they had shot two deer, a handful of pheasants, rabbits and even a boar. It was enough meat to thicken the soup of the villagers for a while. Satisfied, the hunters returned to the campsite where they had left the horses, and helped with the preparation of the game. When the game was ready and loaded upon the horse as well as a makeshift stretcher, the party of hunters made to return to the village.

Patting his horse on the long neck, Aragorn readjusted his bow on his shoulder. The hunt had done him good, but he felt the cold in his every bone; he longed for a warm fire and something strengthening to drink. Preferably some strong ale. Seeing that Halbarad was still struggling with the stretcher, he made his way over to his cousin.

"Need a helping hand?"

Halbarad looked up at him and then gave him a grateful smile, "Aye, thanks." In but a few minutes, Aragorn and Halbarad secured the game on the stretcher. Aragorn gave his cousin a brotherly slap on the shoulder and was just to return to his horse, when a warning call brought him up short. His head snapped around to the source of the call, but it was too late. A large mass of brown fur and lolling tongue crashed into his legs. Startled, Aragorn lost his footing on the trampled snow. Before he could do so much as utter a surprised yelp, he crashed to the ground. The back of his head collided painfully with the side of the stretcher, and white bolts flashed across his vision. He was only dimly aware of agitated voices around him.

Groaning, he blinked a few times to clear his vision. Somewhere behind him Halbarad laughed loudly, while another voice chastised a barking dog. Turing his head, Aragorn saw one of the dogs being chastised by the herder. It seemed the dog had broken form his leash to chase some animal. In his chase, the dog had run into him.

"Estel, are you alright?" Legolas asked with a hint of worry in his voice. He kneeled down next to him and was staring intently into his face. "'m fine." Aragorn mumbled, but his words were slightly slurred. He tried to get up, embarrassed that he had been overrun by a dog chasing a bird, or a weasel or his own tail for all he knew. But getting up seemed to be harder than he had thought. As soon as he moved, the world tilted around him and a fierce pain shot through his head. He hissed. Reaching out, he gingerly touched the back of his head. When he looked at his fingers, he saw a bit of blood on them.

Seeing the blood on his fingers, Legolas reached around him and parted his hair, "Let me see." Aragorn felt the slender fingers probe his head, and he hissed again when Legolas touched a very tender spot. "Well, good thing you have a thick skull." Legolas commented when he finished his examination. "It is just a small cut and it already stops bleeding." He patted Aragorn's leg. "You were lucky."

"Hmm." Was all that Aragorn grumbled, irritated by the pain in his skull and Halbarad's laughter. Once more he attempted to get to his feet, but the world swam before his eyes. Only thanks to Legolas' helping hand was he able to stand at all. Swaying a bit, he leaned into the elf.

"Estel? Do you think you have a concussion?" The worry was back in Legolas' voice, and Halbarad's laughter subsided at the words. Aragorn could feel the eyes on the group of hunters being trained on him. He had just returned home, and already he had managed to get himself into trouble. He felt a warm blush of embarrassment creep up his cheeks. Pulling away from Legolas, Aragorn blinked a few times. When the forest around him stayed stationary and he managed to stand without swaying from side to side, he shook his head minutely, "Nay, I don't think I have a concussion. As you said, I have a thick skull." He touched the back of his head gingerly once more, grimacing at the pain this caused. But he could tell that the wound was no longer bleeding.

"Well then," Halbarad's father said and clapped his hands together, "we should return to the village ere we freeze to death out here." With heartfelt sentiments, the group of hunters quickly mounted their horses. The small group of hunters began their slow trek home. At first, Aragorn really felt that everything was well, but the longer they rode, the worse the pounding in his head became, and after an hour, he felt positively sick. With a silent sigh he had to concede that he _had_ sustained a minor concussion. And from the worried and at the same time reproachful look Legolas every now and then shot his way, Aragorn had no doubt that Legolas knew this as well. It was a long journey to the village, and one that Aragorn would rather forget.

Once they reached the village, late in the afternoon, they guided their horses towards the stables and dismounted. Aragorn had to lean heavily against his muscular horse to keep standing, for the stable tilted around him and his knees felt weak. Suddenly, a strong hand gripped him by the arm. "Stubborn Dunadan." Legolas softly murmured so that only Aragorn could hear him, but the worry in his voice blunted the harsh words.

"Not as stubborn as you." Aragorn replied, but he was grateful for Legolas' support. He was not sure if he could have taken one step on his own without falling flat on his face. With but a few words Legolas informed the group of hunters of Aragorn's concussion, made sure that their horses were taken care of, and then guided Aragorn out of the stable and towards his house. Curious glances followed them, but none intercepted their path. Once inside the house, Legolas quickly stoked the fire in the hearth and set a kettle with water to boil. Meanwhile, Aragorn shrugged out of his clothing in lay down on the bed. Valar, his head hurt!

He was almost asleep when Legolas shook his shoulder, "Estel? Wake up." He blinked his eyes open, but Legolas' face was blurry at the edges. "Here, drink this tea. You will feel better afterwards, I promise." Aragorn did as he was asked, then leaned back against the pillows. His eyes closed on their own accord. The last thing he felt before he fell asleep were Legolas' slender fingers that gently washed the dried blood out of his hair.

Aragorn had strange dreams that night. Due to the concussion, Legolas woke him every four hours. During the short periods of time in which he floated between sleep and true wakefulness, he heard voices in the living room, the clatter of plates and cups, and now and then the melodious hum of Legolas' voice. But while he slept, his mind separate from his body and all his defenses down, he saw strange things.

White and grey were the most prominent colors, but the longer he slept, new colors appeared. The most predominant color became red; it was a bright red, almost brilliant. It flowed through the white and grey, created puddles and bubbles in the white nothingness. It seemed to grow in size and intensity. While his dreams progressed, the red seemed to near Aragorn, to flow towards him and then up his legs and torso, until it encircled him. Later, after Legolas had already woken him several times, the dream changed again. The red vanished, to be replaced by a soft golden hue. Aragorn knew that he knew that color, had seen it numerous times, but – as it so often is in dreams – he could not make the connection.

Then, the mere colors became shapes. After a while, Aragorn made out the outlines of some sort of house or shed. Everything was white or grey, but Aragorn was sure that it was a building of some sorts. Next to the building stood a fence or a hedge, and just to the side of the building was an old well. Aragorn walked around the house – he could not see himself, had no body, but if he concentrated, he could move to the place he wanted. Something about the house was familiar, but he could not tell what it was. Had he been here before? Did he know this place?

And then again, something changed. Suddenly, Aragorn was certain that he was no longer alone. Someone was with him in this whiteness. He looked around, left and right, rounded the house and stepped over the fence. But the dreamscape began to flicker before his eyes. The grey became whiter, the shapes blurred. He wanted to hold onto the image, to keep it, to see what happened, but he could not keep the dream from escaping his grasp. The last thing he saw before the white took over, was a tall and slender figure walking towards the side of the house, where the well was located. Aragorn knew that he should recognize that person, that something would happened with this person, but before he could make the connection, Legolas shook his shoulder and he woke up. The dreambubble burst right before his eyes. And when he fell asleep but minutes later, it was a restful sleep, and the dream did not appear again.

It was morning when Aragorn woke. His head felt still a bit fuzzy, but he knew that he worst was over. He turned, and his gaze fell on Legolas. The elf sat in bed, his back resting against the headboard. An open book lay in his fingers, as if he was reading, but his eyes stared vacantly into nothing, veiled by elvish sleep. His golden hair spilled over his shoulders like molten sunshine. For a long moment, Aragorn simply lay there, watching Legolas sleep. It was obvious that the elf had watched over him during the night, and Aragorn felt a wave of love wash over him. He could not help travel down memory lane at the sight of his lover resting so peacefully beside him.

They had overcome many obstacles to be with each other, had defied hate and cruelty and resentment. Had it not been for Legolas' deep love and affection for him, and the elf's trust that their relationship could work, as well as Legolas' braveness to open up to him, they would not be lying here like this. And Aragorn had probably never felt this sheltered and loved. He had a lot to thank Legolas for. So, instead of waking him, Aragorn snuggled closer and rested his head in Legolas' lap. Sighing, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep once again.

*****

The next days passed peacefully. While Aragorn took up his duties as Chieftain again and oft met with Halgel to discuss one issue or the other, Legolas lend a helping hand wherever needed. He helped repair the fence that surrounded the village, went with another group of hunters on a hunting trip, oversaw the storage of the game and otherwise gave his counsel and opinion whenever asked. Halgel valued his opinion on every matter, for Legolas had lived far longer than any Dunedain in the village, and his experience and education was unequalled among the rangers.

But with winter having the country still in its grasp, there was not really much to do in the village and the lands beyond. No trips to Bree or the other small villages of the rangers that nestled between the rolling hills of The Angle, no fishing, riding or even much scouting. Ever and anon a small group or riders would ride out and scout the area, but these trips never took long; and seeing that most rangers resident in the village were bored and restless, these trips were seldom done by the same men. So far, Aragorn and Legolas had not had the opportunity to leave the village on such a scouting mission.

Nevertheless, Aragorn and Legolas had no problems dividing their time. When night settled on the village and they bolted the door to the small house, they would usually eat a warm meal, before they retired. But not to sleep, no. The long absence from each other and the rediscovery of their bond had awakened a yearning in both of them that neither could deny. So, when night fell and silence descended over the village, Aragorn and Legolas indulged in their own form of swordplay.

It was almost a week after the unfortunate hunting trip, when Aragorn found himself helplessly writhing under Legolas' powerful form. What had started as innocent love play had turned into a fiery coupling. With a shuddered moan, Aragorn gripped Legolas' forearms while the elf repeatedly thrust into him. His strokes were passionate and hard, and Aragorn felt sensation and heat wash over him with every thrust. A warm tongue wickedly swirled at his neck, before teeth nipped at his skin. Aragorn pushed upwards automatically, drawing Legolas deeper into himself. Above him, Legolas groaned deep in his throat, before he pulled Aragorn's hips even more tightly towards him. It was all Aragorn could do not to cry out loud from the fire that shot up his body at this action.

With a hot kiss unto his already heated skin, Legolas resumed his powerful thrusting. He sneaked his hand towards Aragorn's pounding shaft, stroking him in rhythm with his thrusts. It soon proved to be Aragorn's undoing. Flashes appeared before his eyes and his whole body hummed with a passionate tension. When he felt his breaking point nearing, he wrapped his long legs around Legolas and pulled him even closer. With his next thrust Legolas entered him so deep and thoroughly that Aragorn felt his breath stuck in his throat. With Legolas' next deep push, he toppled over the edge and found his release in a mighty rush, spilling himself between Legolas' fingers.

Atop him, Legolas went near crazy when Aragorn's release caused the young man to clench around him. Feeling the rush of his own release upon him, he thrust a few more times, deep and warm, before he came with one last thrust and spilled himself deep inside his lover. Trembling, he sank down upon Aragorn, breathing heavily. For a moment, both simply reveled in the aftermath of their loving. But with the sating of their bodies, other needs became apparent, too. The cold was creeping up to them.

With a deep sigh, Aragorn unwrapped his long legs from around Legolas and allowed the elf to withdraw from him. Legolas quickly cleaned them up, before he threw the blankets and furs over them. Snuggling close to Aragorn, he buried his head in the crook of his neck and gave him a sweet kiss. "I love you, Estel."

"Not as much as I love you, my Prince." Aragorn stole a kiss from Legolas, before he closed his eyes and slowly drifted off to sleep.

"Estel, wake up! Get dressed!" Legolas shook his shoulder another time, his voice a hiss in the darkness. Confused, Aragorn lifted his tired head. "What is it? Legolas, what is the matter?"

Legolas was already out of the bed and had begun to hurriedly dress. "Someone is at your door. It is just past the midnight hour, something must have happened." He threw a hasty look at Aragorn, who had not moved yet. "They must not see us thusly, Estel. Come on, get dressed!" He nearly hissed.

Suddenly quite awake, Aragorn swiftly slid to the side of the bed and searched for his clothing. It was dark in the room, the moon veiled behind heavy clouds. While he dressed as quickly as he could, there was another loud pounding at the door. "My Lord, please, open the door!" The voice was muffled by the wood, but it was obvious that the speaker was agitated, his voice streaked with fear. Clad in but his breeches and a nightshirt, Aragorn hastened to the door, unlocked it and threw it open.

A gust of icy wind rushed into the room, and for a moment Aragorn could not make out the figure that stood in his doorway. Behind him, Legolas stepped out of the bedroom, dressed as if he had not been asleep just moments before.

"Lord Aragorn, please come with me. My daughter…something is wrong with the child. Please, come quickly."

With the light of the dying fire in the hearth, Aragorn could finally make out the man in front of him. His name was Targon, a ranger who had already served under his father. Aragorn had always thought of Targon as a very proud and honorable man, valiant and strong. Halbarad's father thought highly of him and his family. But right now, Targon seemed like a man who was grasping for a lifeline. His face was pale, his eyes wide, and there was a glimmer of fear in his eyes. When Aragorn did not directly react to his words, Targon gripped him by the arm, "Aragorn please, my daughter's child…please!"

The words snapped Aragorn out of his thoughts, and he remembered that Halbarad had told him just the other day that Targon's daughter, Miriel, was with child, Targon's second grandchild. Miriel's husband was away on patrol, and would not arrive before evening the next day. Although Miriel was far in her pregnancy, the child should not have been born earlier than late April. Without further ado, Aragorn grabbed his coat and hastened out the door. While he followed Targon towards his home, he inquired about daughter and child.

"She went to bed and everything was as it should be. But then my wife and I heard her call us in the middle of the night. When we asked her what was wrong, she told us that she was bleeding." Targon told him, his voice shaky. "We were upset, of course, the child is not due yet, it is too early." The man stumbled in the darkness, but caught his footing a moment later and hastened on. Aragorn used the moment to ask a question of his own.

"Have you sent for Marmadoc?" Marmadoc was the healer of the village, an older man who was well trained in the healing arts.

"Aye, of course, it was the very first thing we did." Targon shook his head in frustration, "At first he thought that it was nothing. Just a bit of blood, which is not unnatural when the end of pregnancy nears. But then the cramps began and Miriel….she began to bleed more. She screamed." Targon's voice broke, but he collected himself. "Marmadoc bade me to ask you to come. He said that maybe you could help." It was obvious that Targon feared for his daughter, and from what he had told, Aragorn began to fear for her and the child as well.

They reached Targon's home, which was illuminated from the inside by many lamps. Even before he entered, Aragorn could hear the pained screams of Targon's daughter. Upon entering, Targon quickly went to his daughter's side, taking her hand in his. Aragorn shrugged out of his coat and nodded in greeting at Targon's wife and the healer Marmadoc. He sat down on the bed and took Miriel's hand in his own.

He had not come to know Miriel very well, although she was but a few years older than he. But Aragorn had been away from the village so often that he had not had the time to form deeper bonds with all of its inhabitants. But he had spoken to Miriel on occasion, and he knew that she was a dutiful mother and wife, and that she loved her husband dearly. They had looked forward to this child, in the hope that their little son would soon have a little sister to play with.

"Miriel, your father asked me to come." Aragorn began, unsure whether she had been asked for her permission that he should tend to her. After all, it was not usual that a man, a near stranger at that, was present at a birth, and surely not that he should see to the mother to be. But to Aragorn's relief, Miriel nodded and grabbed his hand. "My child…my little babe…I can feel that something is wrong." Her voice was shaky. She was afraid.

"I will see what I can do." Aragorn patted her hand and placed a reassuring hand on her brow. "For now, safe your strength, Miriel, and take heart." She nodded once more, but the next moment her face creased in pain as another cramp hit her.

Aragorn washed his hands and then examined her quickly, but thoroughly. While her mother and sisters tended to her, Aragorn stepped out of the room to speak with her father and the healer. "The babe is on its way." He said, his voice grim. "It comes too early, and she bleeds too much. I cannot determine the reason for the preterm birth, nor the bleeding."

"Will the child live? And my daughter?" The distraught Targon asked, even paler than before. Aragorn exchanged a look with the healer before he answered, "Your daughter is young and strong. If there are no complications, she should live. As for the child..." Aragorn shook his head and sighed regretfully, "it is too early. But there is a chance that the child will live. But right now, I cannot tell."

Targon stared at him for a moment, his eyes wide. Then his gaze fell on the door to his daughter's room. Soft panting could be heard, alongside urgent whispers. When he returned his gaze to Aragorn, there was a new resolve in his eyes, "We will not tell her this. It would only distress her further. And maybe…maybe our fears are unfounded."

"Aye, maybe." But Aragorn did not truly believe this. Nevertheless, he did as the father bade him, and when he entered the room again, he smiled down at Miriel and gave her a reassuring squeeze of the hand. It would be a long night, a very long and cold night.

It was early morning when Aragorn returned to his house; he was tired, his head was pounding and his heart was heavy. The child had not survived, despite his best efforts. When the little boy had been born, he had not breathed, nor had his tiny heart beaten in his chest. Aragorn had tried everything he had learned from Elrond, had even poured some of his own healing powers into the little body, but the babe had been dead ere it was born. There was nothing Aragorn could have done to save it.

Miriel had been heartbroken, her sobs for her dead child even worse than the cries of pain she had uttered during labor. In the end, Aragorn had mixed her a calming tea, and she had fallen into a fitful slumber. The babe would be buried as soon as she woke and felt strong enough to attend the burial. Already Targon's brothers had gone out into the cold to begin to dig the small grave; it would take hours to even dig a shallow one, for the ground was frozen.

When he entered his house, he found Legolas at the table over a bowl of porridge. He smelled tea. Too tired and drained to speak, he sat down across from Legolas, rested his arms on the tabletop and placed his weary head atop them. He closed his eyes, trying to forget the tiny face of the child, its lifeless body. A moment later, Legolas crouched down next to him and wrapped him into his strong arms. They stayed thus, until Aragorn finally had the strength to get up and wash. He changed into clean clothing, then sat down again and began to tell Legolas of what had occurred during the night.

Legolas listened intently, his eyes showing his deep sadness. Among the elves, children were very rarely stillborn, and the fact that a life had been ended before it had even begun, saddened his tender heart immensely. When Aragorn finished, he squeezed his hand, "You did all you could, Estel. If the child was meant to live, then the Valar would not have taken him this night. Take heart that we cannot understand all the reasons behind Eru's decisions."

"You are right, but still." Aragorn shook his head and gave Legolas a mournful smile, "It will break Miriel's heart and that of her husband. What am I to tell him when he returns and finds his child dead and already buried?" Aragorn's grey eyes became darker, "He will not even get the chance to see his son only once, nor hold him in his arms. The only thing he will have to remember him by will be a shallow grave." And with that, Aragorn got to his feet and left the house, unable to sit still any longer. Legolas let him go, knowing that he needed some time to himself.

The burial of the dead babe was a very sad and subdued affair. Miriel, supported by her father and family, did not cry, but her face was ashen and her hands trembled. And when her husband returned the next day, his shout of denial and heartbreak echoed across the village. It was a horrid thing for a father to come home and find his child dead and already buried.

The night of the burial, Aragorn fell into a fitful slumber. Images of the stillborn child filled his mind, and he could hear again and again Miriel's sobs when he had to tell her that her son was dead. Legolas, sensing his inner turmoil, pulled him towards him and held him close, while he placed tender kisses on his brow and head.

Late that night, the strange dream returned. Aragorn stood in the middle of the small garden next to the house, and yet he was not. He was there, but at the same time Aragorn knew that he was not really there, in body, but that he was merely a spectator, unable to change the events that would unfold. While he watched, the same golden light he had seen before appeared, and now Aragorn saw that it was the slender person who emitted that glow. It was a person he should know, whose name he knew. But try as he might, he could not recognize the person.

He watched as the faceless figure walked slowly around the house. It held something long and sparkling in its hands, but Aragorn knew not what it was. Then, the figure stopped in front of the door of the house, looking inside. At just that moment, another shape appeared, right next to where Aragorn stood. It was as if the shape was climbing out of the well. The shape formed into something else, a body. This second body tumbled to the ground, then got to its feet. But Aragorn's attention was drawn to the slender figure at the door of the house. When the body came out of the well, the golden figure turned around, and its mouth seemed to call something. Aragorn could hear no sound, but he was almost sure that the golden person had called a name. In the next moment, the golden figure started to move into the direction of the well.

And then, suddenly, the world around Aragorn exploded, and the red returned and colored the white with crimson. The golden figure stopped, then turned to look behind it, before it fell to the ground. The body from the well called something, then raced towards the fallen figure. Aragorn did not understand, just felt a pain in his chest that had not been there before. He closed the distance between himself and the fallen figure, but before he could make out its face, the world around him dimmed….and he woke up.

Legolas shifted beside him and tightened his hold around him even in sleep. But Aragorn could not sleep; he was sure that it had not merely been a dream. No dream, but a vision.

Something would happen. Soon.

*****

_A half year prior, at the shores of Harlindon_

The lithe figure lay motionless in the sand. Wave upon wave of salty sea water rolled over its body, drenching the fine clothing and the nearly white hair. Wind came up, howling with the waves in an almost unholy union. A gull screeched overhead, circling. Another wave crashed upon the shore, pulling at the unmoving figure. But then, the slender figure moved. Long fingers buried into the sand, clinging to it. Arms and legs began to move, and the figure slowly, oh so slowly, dragged itself onto the sandy beach. It lay here for a long moment, catching its breath. And then the figure got to its feet, looked at the sky to determine the position of the sun, and then slowly made its way up the shore towards the high mountains in the distance.

Its stride, stiff at first and slow, became stronger, the steps larger, until the light figure was running across the open plains. And then, Lithdal, the exiled elf from Mirkwood, vanished into the dense underbrush of the woods of Harlindon. No one had seen his passing and not a soul knew of his return to Middle-earth.

Lithdal stayed hidden. He lived from what the forest provided, too clever to let himself been seen near the Grey Havens, where Cirdan the shipwright lived. Instead, he headed ever eastwards, into the plains of Eriador. Now and then he ventured towards settlements, stealing food, clothing and weapons in the dark of night. And…he planned and schemed.

Since the day that he had been told in the dungeons of Mirkwood that he would be exiled and forced to take ship to the Undying Lands, he had planned his escape. Oh, in the end, it had been so easy. He had not resisted his transport over the Misty Mountains to Eriador, had not shown his hate against the Lord of Imladris, not his twins sons, he had not protested when his captors had brought him unto the grey ship that would bring him West. And his guards, as he had hoped, had become careless. Once upon the ship, deep at night, he had managed to reach the deck, and without another glance backwards, had jumped into the icy sea.

Hate drove him. He hated Middle-earth and its alluding promises that could never be fulfilled. He loathed the King of Mirkwood who had exiled him, wished he could kill the golden Prince of Mirkwood with his bare hands for what he had done to him. But that was not the reason for his return to Middle-earth. Oh no. While his hatred for these lands and the Mirkwood royal family burned brightly inside him, there was another person he hated and loathed even more so. Once, he had loved the young ranger, the image of innocence and youth he had desired in his every hour. But then Estel, his love, had betrayed him, had ridiculed him…had smiled when he had told him that he felt nothing for him. Had sentenced him to a life in Aman without him. A life without the hope that one day, Estel would be his.

Lithdal wanted revenge. He wanted to find the young human, look into his grey eyes and see the light leave them for good. No one ridiculed him, no one! And surely not the young man he had loved so deeply! But before Estel died, Lithdal would play with him. Maybe, in the end and before he died, Estel would realized that he _did_ love Lithdal, and had made a great mistake in refusing him. But then, it would be too late. If Lithdal could not have him, no one would. And now, Lithdal was disinclined to let him live any longer. It would end.

And while the grey ship that was designed to take him to the Undying Lands sailed into the West without him, never to return or carry word of his escape to Middle-earth, Lithdal moved freely across Eriador, always scheming, always planning his ultimate revenge. And when the first snow fell, Lithdal found the perfect place from where to exert his revenge. Ironically, it was not even far from either the hated elves in Imladris, nor Aragorn's abode in The Angle.

To be continued.

**Mwuahahaha. I just could not kill Lithdal. He is just such a wonderfully evil bad guy. ;) I would love to heard what you think about this chapter! Until next weekend, when I will post chapter 3.**


	3. Forewarned

**Here is the next chapter. Thank you all so much for the reviews. I send the replies just minutes ago. I am very sorry if I forgot someone!**

Chapter 3: Forewarned

The morning after the foreboding vision, Aragorn awoke before Legolas. He silently slipped out of the bed, washed and threw on a thick robe to staff of the cold. He kindled a fire in the hearth of the other room, heating water for tea. Standing in front of the hearth, his gaze riveted on the flames, he let his mind wander. The dream was not the first vision he had had, but by far the clearest. So far, he had had two visions, one when he had been very young and had not yet known of his heritage. The other he had had when he had come of age; he had seen a terrible accident during a hunt, hurting an elf so badly that he had to stay in the healing wing for weeks before he had healed. But since then, he had not seen a vision.

His foster father, gifted with foresight, had explained to him that all of the line of Elros had the gift. In some it was stronger than in others. Some saw real pictures, flashes of the future, while others merely felt things to come, like a hollow feeling in the stomach or a feeling of unrest. Elrond had told him that this gift usually took time to fully develop, and that it could very well be that he had no more visions until he was much older. Aragorn had never dwelled on this gift, for there had been little reason to. Why ponder something that almost never bothered him?

But now, Aragorn was sure, he had had another vision. And now not only once, but thrice already. He thought about the occasions that the vision had come to him. First, when he had lain with Legolas the night of his return, then after he had sustained a minor concussion, and then last night, after the death of the small babe. Two of the three times he had been asleep and the vision had come as a dream to him. That in itself was not so much strange, as uncommon. He had learned from Elrond that visions often came during the hours of sleep, for the mind was then open to otherworldly spheres. But visions also came during the day, while one was awake and alert. So, why had he only seen the vision while he had been sleeping?

But that was not true, was it? Only two times he had been asleep; first because of the concussion and then because he had been so exhausted. His mind had been open then, his defenses down. But the first time he had seen the vision while he coupled with Legolas. Right after he had found his release…His mind had been open then, too. There had been nothing on his mind but the thrill of release and the bliss of his closeness to Legolas. Apparently, he was only able to have these visions when his mind was elsewhere, when it was totally and utterly defenseless.

His eyes still fixed on the flames, Aragorn mused about this. He felt, deep inside, that the vision showed him an event in the near future. Something would happen, something terrible, and to a person he knew. There was no mistaking the horrid feeling in his stomach when he recalled the pictures he had seen. And he felt that he knew not only the person in the vision, but also the place. But try as he might, whenever he wanted to put his finger on it, the images blurred and vanished. He could not recognize the person or place, no matter how much he wanted to.

But if the vision came to him because of a reason, most likely so that he could stop the vision from coming true, then he had to know more details. Who was the person in the vision? What happened to it? And where? When?

With a cold jolt in his stomach, Aragorn realized that he would have to see the vision again. It had been very blurry the first time he had seen the images, and almost clear the last time. Maybe, when he had the vision again, he would see more, perhaps even recognize the persons in it, or the place. But how to achieve that? He could scarcely bump his head again, and Legolas had bedded him more than once since his return, and nothing had happened. Well, nothing that had to do with the vision. But wait,…had he not been physically exhausted that first time he had seen the vision while laying with Legolas? Aye, he had been. Very much so after his long journey and his initial coupling with his golden Prince.

The key to seeing the vision seemed to be that he had to be bodily at the brink of exhaustion. And then he simply needed a trigger, like his coupling with Legolas, the concussion or the haunting images of death. While he stood there, already planning his day so that he would be very exhausted in the evening, the door to the bedchamber opened silently and Legolas padded into the living room. The elf snaked his arms around Aragorn's waist from behind and placed a loving kiss at the side of his neck.

"Good morning, love." Legolas whispered, stealing another kiss. "Why did you not wake me?"

Tilting his head so that Legolas could better access his skin, Aragorn tried to shake the thoughts of the visions out of his mind. "I didn't want to disturb you, Legolas. You looked tired. After all, and don't deny it, you watched over me during the night." He turned in Legolas' arms, looking deep into his blue eyes.

"Aye, I did." Slender elvish fingers tucked at strand of dark hair behind Aragorn's ear, and he shuddered at the intimate gesture. "You looked so tired and heavy of heart yesterday. I thought it best to watch your sleep, so that nothing would disturb you." Aragorn's heart lifted at the thoughtfulness of his lover, and rewarded his Prince with a loving and slow kiss. When their lips parted, Legolas' eyes had darkened considerably. "I love you Estel." He murmured, cupping Aragorn's face with his hands. He closed the distance and placed another kiss on Aragorn's lips, parting them with his tongue and plundering his mouth. The kiss became heated, lips kissing and tongues tasting the other.

Legolas' hands wandered over Aragorn's shoulders and chest, mapping them, before they pressed him closer. Aragorn moaned softly when Legolas' skilled mouth placed warm kissed on the soft skin at the side of his neck, nibbled gently at his ear. A whisper reached his senses, "Love me now, meleth nin (my love)." Heat, all consuming and oh so wonderful surged through Aragorn's body. He wrapped his arms around Legolas and leaned into him. At Legolas' words, desire flooded his every cell. It was usually Legolas who dominated in their couplings, which was understandable, for he had centuries of experiences to put to good use. Aragorn had taken Legolas but a few times, more out of curiosity than true desire to do so. He just loved to be taken by his strong Prince, to be held and controlled and simply loved. But right now, his body screamed at him to do as Legolas asked.

Ensnaring Legolas' lips in a bruising kiss, he made to push Legolas towards the bedroom, but his Prince would have none of it. Legolas bore Aragorn down onto the rug that lay in front of the brightly burning fire. With but a few quick movements, Legolas shed his nightclothes, then pressed his naked body against Aragorn's. Aragorn was stunned at the beauty he beheld. In the light of the flickering flames, Legolas milky skin glowed golden, and his hair radiated like molten gold. When Legolas pressed his lips against the soft skin at his throat, he moaned lustfully.

It took but moments for Aragorn to shed his clothing as well. He rolled atop Legolas, who willingly spread his legs to accommodate his lover. But instead of turning his attention to his Prince's half erect shaft, Aragorn peppered his chest with hot kisses that left Legolas moaning. Travelling from his sensitive throat down his chest, Aragorn sucked at Legolas' nipples until they were hard and the elf under him arching his back in pleasure. Then he went deeper, licking and kissing his way down Legolas' chest, until he paid loving attention to his inner thighs. By now, Legolas was gasping shallowly, his shaft pounding with need. And Aragorn was more than eager to satisfy this need.

He took Legolas deep into the warmth of his mouth, suckling him until his Prince writhed under him. Legolas came with a keen moan, spilling himself into Aragorn's accommodating mouth. Sucking until Legolas was utterly spent, Aragorn enjoyed the radiance that illuminated his lover's ethereal form. Releasing Legolas, Aragorn moved atop him. He lifted his lover's now tensionless hips and legs, kissed him passionately, then rubbed his nose against Legolas'. The elf swung his legs around him, and before Aragorn could react, Legolas reached down, took him in hand and pushed his hips down. Aragorn was buried deep inside his lover. Velvet heat enclosed him, and he felt his breath catch in his throat. Another searing kiss from Legolas spurned him on, and he began to move.

With deep, slow thrusts, he brought Legolas back to full hardness. His pace quickened, their rhythm changed, but they moved in perfect harmony. Aching with need, Aragorn began to stroke Legolas in accordance with his deep thrusts. Panting, the elf pushed down harder, writhing with desire. He pressed his legs tighter around Aragorn, taking him deeper, and his eyes closed in the throes of passion. "Please, Estel," he whispered, cheeks flushed a lovely shade of red, "please, now!"

Legolas' words soared right through Aragorn's heart towards his pounding groin. In a quick move, he pressed Legolas' lithe form against himself, rolled over and sat up, so that Legolas was now resting in his lap; he did not miss one rhythmical thrust. The change in position caused him to penetrate even deeper, and Legolas groaned into his ear. He pressed his sweaty body against Aragorn's, kissing him with a passion that left Aragorn gasping for breath. His rhythm altered, his thrusts became quicker, harder. Atop him, Legolas pushed down repeatedly, his face a mask of pure bliss. When his release came upon him, he threw his head back so that his long golden tresses flowed over his back, and sobbed his release into the still morning air. Aragorn followed quickly after, spilling himself inside his lover. He trembled from the bliss of his spending and the cold that was creeping up on him, and when Legolas leaned down and kissed him sweetly, murmuring in his ears how much he loved him, he could not help but feel like the luckiest man in the village right at that moment.

"I just hope no one heard us." Aragorn remarked while he shrugged into his thick woolen tunic. They had not been especially silent during their love play, and he feared that some of the inhabitants of the village might have heard them. Beside him, Legolas stepped into his boots, "I don't think so. It was still early enough for few people to be outside in the cold. And the walls of your house are thick. No one will have heard us, melethron (lover)."

Fastening his cloak around his shoulders, Aragorn sighed, "Let us hope that you are right, Legolas. Otherwise I will have to answer a few very uncomfortable questions today."

Smiling wickedly, Legolas could not help but comment, "Well, then at least your men will have something to talk about this winter. And our game of hide-and-seek would be over and we could engage in some _real_ bed-play." And when Aragorn looked into Legolas' deep blue eyes, he suddenly had to swallow hard. He knew that teasing gleam in the elf's eyes, and it always boded ill. Coupled with the lusty gaze the elf leveled at him, Aragorn knew the elf had something special planned for their night.

'Well', he thought when he closed the door behind him and walked out into the freezing morning, 'at least then I will be thoroughly exhausted enough to have another vision.' And what was more appropriate to be exhausted from than lusty and love-filled passion?

Aragorn tried to fill his day with as much tasks as he could. He brooded with Halbarad's father over the patrol roosters, he planned the next hunting trip, helped to repair a defect cart that the villagers used to transport hay from the fields to the village, oversaw the training of the younger warriors, talked with dozens of people and worked till late in the night together with Halbarad and the smith of the village on repairing weapons and making new arrows. When he came home to Legolas, his mind was tired, but his body still felt full of strength.

Eager now to finally glimpse another vision, he did not mind in the least when Legolas gripped his hand over dinner that evening and pulled him towards the bedroom. Aragorn knew not how often Legolas took him that night, he only knew that whenever they had coupled, he asked Legolas for more, and his friend and lover obliged. It was already past midnight when Aragorn fell into the cushions with an exhausted sigh. He was completely and utterly spent. At his side, Legolas wiped a hand across his forehead and tucked a strand of golden hair behind a pointed ear. Reaching out, Aragorn threw an arm across Legolas' chest and buried his face in the crook of his neck. "Le melon, ernil nin. (I love you, my Prince)"

Touched by the endearment, Legolas hugged him close, and placed a tender kiss onto his temple, "Ar le melon, galad nin, meleth nin, estel nin (And I love you, my light, my love, my hope)" Aragorn fell asleep in Legolas' arms, unsure what the night would reveal.

And as it happened, the night revealed…nothing. It was shortly before dawn when Aragorn woke, sore and sated, but none the wiser. He had not had a vision, had seen nothing in his dreams. Frustrated, he climbed out of the bed, washed and dressed and stepped outside onto the small porch in front of the house. He had brought his pipe and some weed, and while he watched as the village slowly awoke, he ignited the weed and drew the smoke deep into his lungs. It was cold and new snow had fallen during the night, and Aragorn began to shiver. But he stayed outside, for the cold cleared his thoughts, and although Legolas never said a word, Aragorn knew that he hated the smell of pipeweed.

Why had he not had a vision? Had he concluded the reason for the visions wrongly? He had been so exhausted the night before, that he had slept like a stone! And then he remembered that one element had been missing the other night; there had been no trigger. No event that could have caused a vision to come to him. Frustrated at his own stupidity, Aragorn beat the pipe against the wooden railing and put it back into his pocket. Stupid! Not that he had not enjoyed the night with Legolas, oh no. It had been perfect. Absolutely perfect, as it should be. He had felt so close to Legolas as he had never before, and he knew that this feeling was not just a result of their (numerous) couplings. It also stemmed from the fact that Legolas and he had overcome a drift in their relationship, and were now closer than ever. In spirit, heart and body.

At the thought, Aragorn felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He had not yet told Legolas of his visions. But after what had happened in Mirkwood, Legolas and he had promised each other that no one would keep a secret from the other. Never again. But what if it was no vision after all, but merely a strange dream? Aragorn mused distractedly about whether or not he should tell Legolas. In the end, the cold won out and he returned inside the house without having come to a decision.

In the end, the decision was taken out of his hands.

A few days later, Aragorn, Legolas and two other rangers left the village to scout the area. They would ride in a large circles around the village, only to then minimize the circles, make an excursion into the surrounding forests, before they returned to the village. The scouting trip would take two days.

It was late the second day, when they had already circled the village. While the other two rangers headed West to scout a smaller forest, Aragorn and Legolas headed North towards another accumulation of trees that was so small that it did even not deserve the name 'forest'. After that, each group would return to the village before nightfall.

Freezing despite his long overcoat, gloves and scarf, Aragorn glanced around the trees. They had seen no signs of orcs or other fell creatures, and the 'forest' around them was silent. Shivering in the cold wind, Aragorn turned his horse, "Here is nothing, Legolas. Let us return to the village and report our findings." He glanced at the cloudy sky, "And let us make haste, for I feel that more snow is coming."

Standing atop the snow beside his horse, Legolas followed Aragorn's gaze, "Aye, you are right, those clouds hold more snow. I can already smell it in the air." With a swiftness only the elves possessed, he swung onto the back of his horse, "Let us not tarry, then." Aragorn pulled his hood deeper into his face and was just to press his horse onwards, when Legolas stiffened. Alarmed, Aragorn's hand automatically moved to the hilt of his sword. Following Legolas' gaze, he saw nothing but white snow. "What is it, Legolas? What have your keen eyes espied?"

Legolas did not answer immediately, but continued to stare into the distance. A frown marred his beautiful face, "I am not sure, Estel. But there is something that does not belong." Narrowing his eyes to see better, he shook his head, "I cannot tell what it is, but it does not move."

Wary, Legolas and Aragorn slowly approached whatever it was that Legolas had sighted. They had almost reached it when Legolas suddenly stopped his horse. Aragorn gazed at him questioningly, his hand still at the hilt of his sword. To his surprise, Legolas shook his head, a very sad expression on his face, "You won't need your sword, Estel. Weapons cannot help here." And before Aragorn knew what his friend was talking about, Legolas urged his horse forwards again. When Aragorn finally realized what lay in the snow before them, his heart became heavy.

There, in the middle of the plain, surrounded and partially covered by nothing but snow, lay the body of a man. Aragorn quickly thought about all his men that were still on patrol, but none of them had been assigned to this streak of The Angle. Nevertheless, he dismounted quickly and kneeled next to the body. Turning it around, he saw that it was the body of a man, but none he knew. He was no ranger. Relief and sadness washed over him. After a quick examination of the body, Aragorn could tell that this man had probably come from Bree, for he carried a lot of goods and valuables with him. Mayhap he had been a merchant on his way to another village, or he had been a lonely wanderer, who carried all his goods and chattels with him.

"He has been dead for a while." Aragorn finally said and got to his feet. "His body is completely frozen. But I can find no injuries. I think he just went to sleep one night and never woke up again. He…froze to death."

Legolas looked down at the dead man, shaking his head sorrowfully, "What was he doing out here, on his own and without a horse or a cart?"

Sighing, Aragorn shrugged his shoulders. He did not know the answer. "Mayhap he was on his way to a village or to meet someone. With all the snow, maybe he strayed from the road." He shook his head, "We will never know, Legolas. He has taken the answers to these questions with him to his grave."

With combined strength, they wrapped the body in a blanket and lay him over the back of Legolas' horse. Although they knew not who the man was or what had driven him so deep into the plains of The Angle, they would never let him lie in the snow, only to be ravaged by the wild beasts as soon as the temperatures rose once more. Instead, they would bury him close to the village.

They arrived at the village after nightfall, long after the other two rangers had returned, but they did not want to lay the body out until the morning. And so, with the help of a handful of rangers and bathed in flickering torchlight, they dug a grave into the frozen earth and laid the unknown stranger to rest. When Aragorn sank down onto the mattress that night, he felt saddened at the death of the stranger, so close to the village, so close to warmth and help. And at the same time, he was glad that it had been none of his men. It was a strange feeling, so ambiguous. He fell asleep nestled in Legolas' arms.

That night, the vision returned. Instead of mere colors and shapes, Aragorn could finally make out his surroundings. Like the first times, he stood next to a building, but now he could see that it was an old house, built from stone, but long abandoned to ruin. Windows and door were mere black holes in the stone. No smoke rose from the roof, which was heavily laden with snow. Looking around, Aragorn saw that a river flowed in the distance, to the East. He was just to walk towards the ruin, when movement to his left startled him.

There he was, the slender figure with the golden glow. This time, Aragorn had no problem in recognizing the person. "Legolas." He whispered, stunned at the sight before him. He could not understand why he had not earlier realized that it was Legolas who he saw. While he watched, Legolas walked around the house slowly, one of his sparkling daggers in hand. He looked into every window and when he reached the door, he bent over the threshold to look inside the house.

Just in that moment a figure climbed out of the old well, just like the other night. Taking a step forwards, Aragorn could see that the figure was just clad in boots, breeches, a tunic and shirt; insufficient protection against the cold. The figure tumbled to the ground, breathing heavily. And then, the figure lifted its head and Aragorn could see its face.

Aragorn sucked in his breath and took a step backwards, 'It's me!' He thought, stunned. But it was unmistakably him who had crawled out of the well and was now slowly getting to his feet.

"Estel!" Legolas voice was loud in his ears, and Aragorn's head snapped to the figure in the doorway. Legolas turned around to face the _Aragorn_ that had just climbed out of the well. With a relieved smile Legolas started forward, but before he had taken but a few steps, he came to an abrupt stop. He looked down at himself and then back over his shoulder, confusion and pain marring his features. Without another sound, he dropped to the ground. The snow colored in a bright red under his body. "Legolas!" The scream of the other _Aragorn _made Aragorn jump. His other self sped past him and kneeled down at Legolas' side, taking him into his arms. Aragorn could just watch in stunned horror as his other self drew Legolas close to his chest, muttering too soft for Aragorn to make out the words.

While Aragorn watched, helpless and stunned to immobility, the other _Aragorn_ shook Legolas, tears running down his cheeks. But Legolas did not move, did not speak, and a heart wrenching sob escaped both of Aragorn's lips.

He had just watched Legolas die. Legolas was dead. Red stained the snow, his other self's hands, his clothing. And while he watched, a shadow appeared in the doorway, a gleaming sword in hand.

"NO!"

Aragorn woke abruptly. Cold sweat stood on his brow and his nightshirt clung to his body. He was panting in shallow gasps, and for a moment, he was disoriented. It was a moment before he became aware of a strong hand on his shoulder and Legolas' presence beside him. He swallowed hard and tried to calm down. Legolas was with him, he was not dead, it had just been a dream. No, he corrected himself immediately, it had been a vision. Of the future.

"Estel, are you alright? You called out in your sleep." Legolas brushed a lock of his sweaty hair out of his face, scrutinizing him with mild worry in his eyes. "Did you have another nightmare, meleth nin (my love)?" Legolas' voice was soft, almost afraid of the answer. It had taken Aragorn a long, a very very long time, to escape the nightmares that had haunted him after the attack on him almost a year ago.

His breathing almost back to normal, Aragorn turned to face Legolas, "No, not a nightmare. Legolas, we need to talk."

Sitting at the table in the other room, a cup of lukewarm tea in front of him, Legolas frowned deeply, "So, are you telling me you had a vision, in which I died?" Aragorn nodded, pressing his long fingers against his cup of tea. "Aye, you died in my arms from a terrible wound to your back."

Aragorn had told Legolas everything. From the first blurry vision he had had up until his clear vision just this very night. Legolas had listened without interrupting him, but his face had turned grim while Aragorn had explained. It was obvious that Legolas was as shaken from his vision as he was.

"And you have no idea who the attacker was? Or where this happened?" Taking a sip from his tea, Legolas eyed Aragorn expectantly. But the young man shook his head and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. It was cold in the room. "No, I was not able to see his face. And as for the place…" he frowned. "I know that I have seen that house before, but I cannot remember where. It eludes me." He sounded frustrated, and he was. The vision had shown him Legolas' death, but it had not provided him with the means to prevent it. How was he supposed to change the future, when he did not know where this happened, or when or through whom? How should he save Legolas when he knew not how? Why had he not seen more, for Valar's sake?

Seeing his frustration and the guilt that burdened Aragorn's shoulders, Legolas reached across the table and placed his hand atop Aragorn's. "Don't trouble yourself, Estel. Maybe it was a vision, maybe it was a dream. What matters is that we are now forewarned. We are one step ahead of whomever it is that means us ill. We can – and we will – prevent this from happening."

"But how, Legolas?" Agitated, Aragorn got to his feet and began to pace the room. "How are we to prevent this? We know not when, or how, or who, or why!" He reached the hearth and kicked the stones in his frustration.

"I know not how, Estel. But we will find a way." Putting a reassuring tone into his voice, Legolas tried to reason with his young lover. "You are right, your vision provided us with little information." Still pacing, Aragorn snorted softly. Unfazed, Legolas continued, "We know that something will happen, most likely in the near future, for in your vision, the ground and the house were covered with snow. Then, it will happen during the day, for it was light. So, not at night." He ticked the points off on his fingers.

Aragorn shot him a quick look; he had not thought about that before. Legolas continued, "Third, it will happen near a house that has also a well nearby. So I assume that it does not happen in a village, for most villages have a public well. Maybe we are speaking of a farm or an abandoned building somewhere on the plains. Furthermore, we were together when it happened, so it probably does not happen when we are apart. And, we must not forget that you also saw a river." He paused and thought for a moment, "Was it a large river? Or rather a small one, a brook?"

Stopping in his pacing, Aragorn tried to remember, "It was a great river, but not the Anduin. It could have been the Bruinen, but I'm not sure. For all I know, it could have been the Baranduin, the Hoarwell or even the Entwash!" He resumed his pacing.

"I don't think that it was a far away river. If it was, why would you have had the vision? Neither I nor you are planning any trips to these rivers. No, I think it was a river that flows nearby. I'm almost sure that it must have been the Hoarwell or the Bruinen. Either is close enough to reach by horse in but a day or two."

"Legolas, are you trying to encourage or depress me?" Shooting Legolas an irritated look, Aragorn stopped his pacing in front of the warm hearth. The thought that he had seen one of the two closest rivers to the village did nothing to brighten his spirits.

Getting to his feet, Legolas came to stand behind Aragorn. He snaked his arms around the other's waist and rested his chin on his shoulder, "All I'm trying to do is to keep the vision from coming true. The more we get to know, the better we can prepare ourselves."

Leaning into Legolas' embrace, Aragorn sighed morosely. Of course Legolas was right. But it was not easy to speak about his vision so calmly and rationally. After all, he had seen Legolas die in his arms. That was nothing he could easily forget. "You are right, Legolas, forgive me. It is just…I feel an unrest that makes me….well I guess a bit scared." Aragorn admitted.

"There is nothing to forgive, meleth nin (my love). What you have seen must have troubled you, that is only natural. Just remember, Estel. Whatever comes, we will fight it, and we will prevail." Legolas pressed his lips against Aragorn's skin, before he tugged at his arm. "Come back to bed, it is cold out here."

It was a restless night for both of them. The fear that something horrible would happen hung like a dark cloud above them, threatening to overwhelm them. When morning finally came, Aragorn felt as if he had not slept at all. Over breakfast, they decided to not yet tell others about the vision, for they would only worry overmuch. But at the same time, they would make sure that they neared no river, nor went on any unnecessary hunt. Maybe they had no surety when it would happen or where, but they could take precautions.

To be continued.


	4. A Monster in the Dark

Chapter 4: A monster in the dark

Two weeks passed and nothing out of the ordinary happened. Slowly, the temperatures rose and the snow melted. Here and there, the soft green of the wide plains and the rolling hills broke through, and the first birds returned to the land. With every day that passed, Aragorn and Legolas felt their hope that nothing would happen rise. So far, Aragorn had not been plagued (or blessed) by another vision. Everything seemed normal. So, when one evening Halbarad's father asked if they were interested to accompany him and some other rangers on a hunt to the South, Legolas agreed gratefully. He had not been outside of the village since the last vision, and he slowly felt imprisoned by the walls that were meant to keep the villagers safe.

Aragorn, however, had to decline the offer. Now, with the snow slowly melting and spring on the doorstep, he had to coordinate the repairs the village had suffered during the long winter, as well as oversee the examination of the ranger outposts. It was tedious work, but it felt good to finally do something productive.

The morning of the hunt, Legolas gave Aragorn a peck on the cheek, "Behave yourself while I'm gone." Smiling, Aragorn slapped Legolas on his firm behind, "After last night, I think even if I _would_ want to misbehave, I think I couldn't." Legolas, at least, had the grace to blush.

It was around midday when a loud knock interrupted Aragorn's reading. Shoving the papers about the necessary repairs and the needed materials they would have to buy in Bree away from him, he rose to his feet. It was Halbarad who stood in the doorway. "Interested in something more fun than reading?" His eyes glimmered with anticipation.

"What have you done this time, Halbarad?" Aragorn asked and gestured for his cousin to come in. "If you are trying to coax me into another of your missions of mischief, forget it. I promised Legolas to behave."

While it was true that Halbarad could not match Aragorn's foster brothers Elladan and Elrohir in their wicked ways, his pranks were bad enough to have gotten him into more trouble than was good for him.

"Nah, nothing of that sort." Halbarad waved his hand through the air as if he wanted to swat away a fly. "During the night, the gate to the cow pasture broke or was left open. I don't know. Anyway, most of the cows made a run for it. We have to find them and bring them back ere the wolves get to them."

Aragorn sighed; tracking down cows and herding them back to the village would take hours. And although the snow slowly melted, it was still bitter cold outside. But, on the other hand, getting out meant that he could finally do some real work. He threw a look at the stack of papers on his table, before he reached for his cloak. "Let us go then." Happy, Halbarad slapped him on the shoulder.

Tracking the cows was very easy at first. They rode out with a handful of rangers, and the bulk of the cows had not trudged off very far. Being docile animals, the rangers had no problems to herd them back to the pasture. But when the day wore on, the sky darkened and clouds began to gather. In the early evening, the first white flakes began to fall. Groaning, Halbarad pulled his hood up, "And here I thought that the winter was finally over. If it continues to snow like this, we won't be able to see the tracks anymore." And it was true, already a thin powder of whiteness had accumulated on the ground.

"How many more are missing?" Turning in his saddle, Aragorn looked back over his shoulder towards the rest of the rangers. The men were herding a handful of cows back towards the village. He could barely make them out in the falling snow.

"Two more, I think." Halbarad answered and gestured to the North. "We found tracks leading North and North-East. It seemed likes the cows split up just to irritate us."

Aragorn studied the ground around him; due to the cold temperatures, the snow did not melt but stayed. The sun stood already low on the horizon, but with a bit of luck, they would be able to find the animals before night fell and herd them back to the village. "Alright, let us split then, too." Halbarad nodded, then headed away to the North, while Aragorn turned his horse North-East.

Aragorn rode for at least two hours, his eyes glued to the ground. The cow he was following had left deep imprints in the ground, and after a while he could even make out tracks in the freshly fallen snow. Knowing that he was heading in the right direction, Aragorn hastened his pace. It was almost dark when he finally spotted the cow, grazing lazily atop a small hill. The animal did not resist when Aragorn fitted a rope around its neck and then tied this to his saddle. He was just to mount his horse, when his eyes suddenly marked something in the distance, on the other side of the hill.

Intrigued, Aragorn moved around his horse to see better. He narrowed his eyes and peered into the twilight. And then his breath caught in his throat. In an instant, his knees became weak and his heartbeat accelerated. There before him, nestled between the hill and the river Bruinen, stood an old stone house. A fence of broken wooden planks circled it, and even from the distance Aragorn could make out the old well.

It was the house from his vision, the place where he had seen Legolas's death.

"This is not possible." Aragorn said softly, shaking his head. "How could I forget?" As soon as he had beheld the house, Aragorn had remembered. He knew that house, had been there before. Many years ago, long before his birth, a Dunedain family had lived there. The house was close enough to the ranger villages in The Angle to be relative secure from orc attacks, and easily reachable. The husband had built the house himself, for his wife and children. When the man had died, his widow moved back to the village, where she died years before Aragorn's birth. Their children still lived in The Angle, in other villages. Aragorn had visited the decayed house when he had first joined the rangers, eager to see every dwelling and every spot of The Angle. Why had he not remembered it before now?

For a moment, Aragorn was torn between returning to the village and walking down to the house. His instinct told him to flee and return to the safety of the Dunedain village as quickly as possible, but in the end, his mind overruled his instincts. The vision he had seen had played out during daytime, and now it was nearly night. Legolas was not with him, and the snow lay not as thick as in his dream. So, the vision he had seen, Legolas's death, could not come true. Mounting his horse, Aragorn slowly neared the ruins. He would just take a peek inside and then return to the rangers. At least, now he knew the location of his vision; if Legolas never neared it, nothing would happen to him, right?

Leaving the horse and the cow near the fence, Aragorn slowly rounded the house, his hand at the hilt of his sword. There were no signs that anyone inhabited the building; no smoke rose from the chimney, the stable was empty, and the snow devoid of footprints or other tracks. As it seemed, the house was empty. Wanting to make sure, Aragorn lightly jumped over the low fence and walked towards the well. He could hear water gurgle somewhere deep down, but the well held no bucket. If someone truly lived here, he would have to get his water from the Bruinen, a long walk to the East. Another fact that indicated that no one had lived in the house since it had originally been abandoned.

It was already dark outside when Aragorn stepped over the threshold of the stone house. Snow had covered on the ground, and when he looked up, Aragorn saw that the roof had caved in on one side. The two room house held no furniture, and he could find no other sign of inhabitation. Maybe his vision had shown him how he and Legolas had been taken unawares by ruffians? Thinking, Aragorn tried to come up with an explanation for his vision. What if highwaymen used this old house as some kind of hideout? The old North-East road was a popular target for thieves and cutthroats. Maybe they used this house for storage reasons. But that made no sense, either, for the rooms were empty.

Frustrated, Aragorn turned and moved back towards the door. It was then that his foot stepped on a floorboard that creaked ominously under him. Looking down, Aragorn saw that the snow on the planks was thinner here than in the rest of the house. Intrigued, he crouched down and swiped the snow away. There it was, right before him – a small brass handle, indicating a trapdoor. While Aragorn drew his sword and slowly swung the trapdoor open, he again chastised himself for not thinking of this sooner. Most houses that lay in the middle of nowhere had trapdoors like this, to hide the family in cases of emergency.

When the door was opened, Aragorn could make out wooden stairs that led into the deep. The space under the floorboards seemed to be bigger than the hideouts Aragorn had seen before, but it was too dark for him to see clearly. Taking a quick decision that he would regret later, he descended the stairs. And indeed, the stairs led deep under the house. At their end, Aragorn stepped into a small, hallway like tunnel. He glanced around; to his left the tunnel vanished around a bent. It was dark, but not so dark that he could not see. From around the bend, light shone into the tunnel. To his right, the tunnel was straight and vanished in the darkness.

Aragorn hesitated. Should he leave and return in the morning with some rangers? But what if the one who lived here, maybe ruffians, maybe even orcs, were gone then? They would not be able to track them down, and they would just find another hideout from where to terrorize travelers. No, Aragorn decided, he would try to find out more, and then leave as quickly as possible. And who new, maybe it were neither ruffians nor orcs, but just a homeless wanderer who had waited out the winter in this cellar.

He turned to his right, determined to first inspect the dark tunnel. If someone was down here, than surely in the light tunnel. To his surprise, the tunnel ended after but a few long strides. Then, the tunnel opened up before him, and Aragorn heard the sloshing of water. Looking down, he saw the glossy surface of water just a few feet under him. Snow gently sailed down from somewhere above. And truly, when Aragorn tilted his head and gazed upwards, he could make out a slightly brighter speck in the darkness, like an opening. With sudden clarity he realized that he was standing in the old well; not at its bottom, but in an opening in its walls somewhere in its middle.

A cold shiver raced down his spine. In his vision, he had climbed out of the well. _This_ well. Gripping his sword tighter, Aragorn turned and headed back towards the other tunnel. At the stairs he stopped and shot a look upwards. Maybe it was better if he left now… But then his curiosity won out, and he stepped towards the bend in the tunnel. As soon as he rounded the corner, his eyes went wide.

There before him was another whole _house_! Well, not house in the sense of the word, but a living area the size of the house above ground. He saw a table with two stools, some cupboards, a large trunk and even an area where someone could kindle a fire. Pots, pans and other utensils covered the cupboards and floors. Pieces of clothing rested on one of the stools, and a knife lay on the table. The light he had seen earlier came from an oil lamp that stood in the middle of said table. Taking a few steps deeper into the room, Aragorn had no doubt that someone lived down here.

He let his gaze wander around the room, trying to find a key as to the sort of person that had made its home here. There were no books, no pictures. And no crates of stolen goods, either. So maybe it was _not _highwaymen who called this home. Turning to the right, Aragorn espied that there was a door in the wall. Opening it carefully, he saw that the door led to a second, smaller room. The room was completely empty, and when he looked up, the saw the thick wooden beams that held the ceiling. Deciding that he had seen enough, he was just to turn around, when he suddenly felt the tip of a dagger prick into his back. He stiffened, but his grip on his sword tightened. He cursed inwardly, for he had not heard anyone sneak up on him.

"What do we have here?" An amused but cold voice said from behind. At the sound of the voice, a tremor ran down Aragorn's spine. It had been months since had had last heard this voice, but he remembered it as if it had been yesterday. This could not be true, this must be another nightmare! Pressing the dagger harder against his back, the person behind him ordered, "Throw the sword to the ground and kick it away." When Aragorn did not obey immediately, the person removed the dagger from his back and slammed its hilt into his neck. Aragorn fell to his knees with a painful yelp. The sword fell from his hands and landed on the ground with a clatter. His attacker quickly kicked it out of his reach.

"Get up, human. Slowly." Without turning around, Aragorn climbed to his feet. His whole body trembled, and he could feel icy cold fingers of fear grip his heart. This could not be true. This was just not possible! "Turn around and let me see who was so unfortunate to cross my way. At least let me see who it is that I will kill tonight." The cold voice said, a shimmer of hilarity in its voice.

Gulping, Aragorn did as he was asked. As he had known, his attacker was no other than…Lithdal. The elf who had tried to seduce him, to take him by force, who had tried to kill Legolas twice and who had nearly ended his life. The elf, who misguidedly loved him. The elf who had been exiled and brought on a ship to the Undying Lands. Lithdal, the elf who should not even be in Middle-earth anymore.

For a moment, Lithdal said nothing, his eyes wide in surprise and astonishment. His mouth hung open and the hand with the dagger lowered just a fraction. But before Aragorn could react, Lithdal got himself under control. A gleam entered his eyes and his lips twitched into a cruel smile, "Well, now look who we have here. Estel! It seems the Valar have answered my prayers after all."

*****

It was hours after nightfall when the hunting party returned to the village. They had found enough game to last a week, for due to the milder temperatures, the animals had been around in abundance. They brushed down their horses and fed them, before they brought the game to the storage rooms, where it would be salted and then dried in the morning. Stepping out of the storage house, Legolas stood and conversed with Halgel, when Halbarad interrupted them.

"I'm glad you have returned, Father." Sensing his son's worry, Halgel placed a hand on his shoulder and inquired, "You seem disturbed, son. Has something happened while we were gone?"

Halbarad told them of the escaped cows and their attempts to find and bring them back to the village. When he ended, Halgel and Legolas exchanged a grim look, "And you say Aragorn has not yet returned?" Halgel asked his son. Halbarad shook his head and sighed, "No, he has not. We parted ways late in the afternoon a few hours from the village. Maybe it took him some time to find the cow, but even if he abandoned the search, he should have been home by now."

Legolas glanced at the gate of the village, "He would never stay outside in this cold and after nightfall if not for a good reason."

Halgel nodded his agreement, "Aragorn knows the area well, even in the dark of night and with this snow, he would find the way back to the village. Do you think that something happened to him?"

For a moment, Legolas did not answer, then he sighed, "I know not, but I worry for him." They stood in silence for a while, before Halgel voiced his opinion, "Aragorn is a skilled ranger, despite his young age. Our scouts have found no signs of danger near the village. I'd say we give him a few more hours to return on his own. If he hasn't returned at midnight, we will assemble a search party." He glanced questioningly at Legolas. After a moment, Legolas agreed. Maybe it had taken Aragorn a while longer to find the cow and he was just now making his way towards the village. They could miss him in the dark of night and endanger good men in a needless search.

But while Legolas sat alone in Aragorn's house, feeling the time slowly tick by, he could not help but think about the vision. Had it not snowed in the vision? Yes, it had. A lump formed in his throat and he felt even more uneasy then before. Oh please, he thought, let Aragorn return safe and sound. But deep inside, he knew that something had happened to his friend and lover. Something terrible.

As soon as it was midnight, Legolas swung on his horse, frustrated at the - in his eyes - slow pace of the rangers around him, and then sped away into the night.

To be continued.


	5. The Impossibility to escape Fate

Chapter 5: The impossibility to escape fate

„Ah, Eru himself is a merciful Lord. He granted my deepest desire and my most ambitious wish." Lithdal slowly circled Aragorn, his hands clasped before him. After disarming him, Lithdal had forced Aragorn back into the empty room, where he had ordered him to shed his cloak and tunic, bound his hands, flung the end of the rope over one of the beams that held the ceiling, and pulled the rope tight. Suspended from the beam, his toes barely reaching the ground, Aragorn warily watched Lithdal's every step. So far, the elf had not touched him, but Aragorn knew that it could only be a matter of time, if Lithdal's past transgressions against him were any indication.

Again and again Aragorn berated himself for his enormous stupidity. Had the vision not warned him? Had he not promised to Legolas that he would behave and therewith do nothing that would endanger him? How could he have been so foolish as to think that he could avoid his fate? His vision would come true after all, and Legolas would have to pay the ultimate price for his failure. Trembling inside from the impact these thoughts had on him, Aragorn let his head sink onto his chest. He would be responsible for Legolas's death!

"Oh, why so sad, little human?" Lithdal purred, grabbing Aragorn's chin between his fingers and forcing his head up. "Tsk tsk, so much distress, so little faith." He gazed into Aragorn's ardent eyes, before he let go of his chin and resumed his little parade around his suspended form. His voice was dripping with arrogance and cockiness, but it bordered on insanity. "My dearest Estel, can you not see that you are here because the Valar granted my wish? They brought you right here, to me, so that I would not have to come and get you. They – you – spared me a long trip." He came a bit closer, brushing against Aragorn's side. "Don't you want to know how it comes that I'm here? Are you not curious?"

When Aragorn did not speak but merely stared at the wall in front of him, Lithdal frowned, but continued as if he had not anticipated an answer anyway. "It were the Powers themselves that brought me here. See, when I jumped from that ship, I was lost in the wide sea. But Eru himself, or maybe Lord Ulmo, I cannot tell with certainty, lifted me up and set me down at the shore of Arda. Understand, they wanted me to come back. I have a mission to fulfill, and they would not admit me in the Undying Lands before I have completed my task." He gave Aragorn a little push, before he stepped in front of him.

Looking into Lithdal's eyes, Aragorn could see the madness glitter behind the icy blue orbs. Whatever had happened to Lithdal in the time between his exile and the present day, it had made him crazy. The elf took another step forwards, and his face was only inches from Aragorn's when he spoke his next words. "Do you want to know what I desired besides the chance to come back? _Why_ I wanted to come back in the first place?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued. His voice dropped to a deadly hiss, "Every day and every night I see your face." Aragorn felt cold sweat drench his shirt at those words. "And do you know why, Estel?" Grey eyes clashed on deadly blue. "Because I dream every second of my eternal life of wrapping my fingers around your throat and throttle the life out of you. Breath for single breath."

For a moment, Aragorn thought that Lithdal would kill him there and then. His eyes shone with a madness he had never witnessed before, and the elf's skin became an unhealthy red. Lithdal seemed to fight an internal battle, and his hands balled into tight fists. But then, the former Mirkwood messenger reined his emotions in and took a step back. He smoothed his tunic and rolled his shoulders, "Now, tell me, Estel. What brings you here? How did you find out where I was?"

Disinclined to answer the question, Aragorn redirected his gaze at the wall. He had no doubt that Lithdal would have his way with him, as he had tried before. After he was done, he would kill him and drop his body where no one would find him. He would not make it any easier for him if he could help it. But his silence spurred Lithdal into action. Within seconds, Lithdal shed his composed mien and turned into the crazy elf that Aragorn had seen in his eyes. With an angry yell he sped forwards and punched Aragorn right into the face.

Pain shot through his skull and his head snapped to the side; Aragorn tasted blood. "Tell me!" Lithdal yelled, and his long fingers grabbed Aragorn's dark locks and yanked with such a force that another hot pain raced through his head. Knowing that further silence would only enrage Lithdal even more, Aragorn answered the question. "I happened to come across the house accidentally. I didn't know that you hide here."

For a moment, Lithdal merely studied his face, his fingers still tugging painfully at his hair. Then he let suddenly go, only to smash his fist once more into Aragorn's face. "LIAR!" He screamed at the top of his lungs, before he hit him another time. "LIAR!"

Blood streamed down Aragorn's face from a cut at his eyebrow, and he swung from side to side on the rope. Blood ran down his chin from a split lip. The punches hurt immensely, and his vision swam. He was only dimly aware that Lithdal paced the room, screaming. "THE VALAR SEND YOU TO ME! LIAR, LIAR!"

"I did not lie to you." Aragorn lifted his head and locked his gaze with Lithdal's. Slowing down, the elf raised a finger and pointed at him menacingly, "You _dare_ to deny the intervention of the Valar?" He came closer, his breath hot on Aragorn's skin. "Then you will not only pay for what you have done to me, but also for your disrespect to Eru and all the Valar."

Staring into the madness filled eyes of the elf, Aragorn knew that he could not reason with Lithdal. What _he_ had done to Lithdal? Was it not the other way round? What in the name of all he held dear had _he_ done to Lithdal? The elf was truly and utterly mad. But, was he? Aragorn could not help but wonder at his words. No one knew who or what created the visions that the children of Elros saw. What if he had never had the vision? Would he then even have pondered riding to this house? Probably not. Would he have entered it? Surely not. So, maybe Lithdal was right. Maybe it had been the Valar who had guided him here.

Something of his musings must have been visible in his face, for Lithdal suddenly smiled at him. "Ah, I see you agree with me after all. That is good, for it will make what is to come so much easier." He began to slowly circle Aragorn, his hand on him while he moved. "You surely wonder what I have planned for you and I will not deny that I desire to tell you. I have learned that fear is an amazing helper when it comes to torture people. Aye, my little human, I will torture you and then kill you with my bare hands."

He came to stand in front of Estel and stared at him evilly, before he resumed his pacing. Aragorn felt shiver upon shiver race down his spine. The feeling of Lithdal's hand on him made him sick with fear, try as he might to suppress the feeling. He had thought that Lithdal held no more sway over him, but this was apparently not true. While he no longer felt a headless fear from him, it was a strong sense of fear that made his senses sharp and his stomach clot. Oh yes, he was scared about the things that Lithdal had in mind for him. He knew what to expect, and the thought of such a transgression against him made him physically sick. Lithdal had tried to forcefully take him when he had been unwilling to be bedded, had even gone so far as to break into the Mirkwood Palace to get to him. Aragorn had no doubt that he would try again, and that he would not be merciful with him. But beside his fear of what was to come, he also felt a deep sense of stubbornness and anger, and he knew that he would fight Lithdal until the end.

Aragorn was ripped out of his thoughts when Lithdal stopped his pacing again, this time standing right behind him. Looking straight ahead, Aragorn refused to acknowledge the elf's presence behind him, suppressed the urge to shift away. To his dismay, Lithdal came ever closer, until he was pressed up against him. The elf grabbed him by the waist and pulled him backwards, until Aragorn rested flush against the elf's body. Lithdal placed his mouth next to Aragorn's ear. "I loved you once, with all my heart. But you, oh…you had only eyes for that pathetic Princeling of yours. But no matter, no matter. I'm over that passing desire of mine. No longer does your allure hold sway over me." As if to prove his point, Lithdal brushed his lips against Aragorn's skin, before he spoke again, "See? No more addiction, no more passion deluded actions." His hands gripped Aragorn's waist tighter, leaving bruises. "My only goal now is to see you die a slow, painful and utterly unmerciful death."

Lithdal screamed the last word, pushed Aragorn away from him, and without another glance backwards, he stormed out of the room. The door slammed shut behind him.

Furious, Lithdal almost ran through the small room towards the stairs that led up to the stone house. Flying up the creaky stairs, he burst through the trapdoor and into the house. Without a glance backwards he ran out of the house into the garden. Only when he reached the withered fence did he stop his headless flight. For it was just that, a flight. Panting, his hands fisted in agitation, Lithdal glanced sightlessly ahead into the darkness surrounding the house. The moon was veiled behind thick clouds, but Lithdal's keen eyes would have no problem to make out his surroundings. If he had bothered to watch, that was. Instead of seeing the surrounding plains, all that Lithdal saw was Aragorn's body, hanging suspended from the ceiling. His soft lips, the lean limbs, strong muscles rippling under the skin and the manly scent.

A shudder went through the elf and he balled his hands even tighter, so that his nails cut into his skin. When he had been exiled he had foresworn the allurement Aragorn had for him, had renounced his old ways. That youngling had no more sway over him! It was ridiculous! Aragorn had betrayed him, had laughed over him, had wished for him to live an eternal life in misery and pain. He had sworn that he would kill that human, that he would make him suffer. He, Lithdal, was too good for the human. He was worth more than him. He would not besmirch himself by bedding that filthy human.

But as he stood there, panting and tense, Lithdal had to admit that it was not true. It had been a lie. He was as much attracted to Aragorn as he had been a year ago, the young man had lost nothing of his allure, of his charm of his loveliness. As much as Lithdal hated to admit it, he still loved Aragorn, still wanted him so much that it hurt. When he had touched Aragorn, kissed him, oh, that had felt so good, just like in the old times. His loins burned with desire, and he could feel the telltale pounding of his erection. He wanted him. But he must not! He would not sink so low; he would not grant that little human the satisfaction of being taken by him, a pureblooded elf of the former Greenwood the Great! He was just a human…a frail, despicable thing.

Conflicting emotions warred within him, and Lithdal struggled. But the longer he thought about Aragorn, bound and helpless and just ready to be taken, the stronger the heat in his lower regions became. When the urge to go downstairs and just have his way with Aragorn became too strong, Lithdal yanked his leggings down. A frustrated, angry yell left his lips as he took himself in hand and began to forcefully stroke his pounding flesh.

*****

"It is too dark, father." Halbarad whispered dejectedly and patted his horse's neck. "I can barely see my hand in front of my eyes. How are we supposed to find him in this cursed darkness?"

The party of riders that had set out to find Aragorn had stopped on the top of a small hill. It had been hours since they had left the village, but so far, their search had been slow. Halbarad had led them to the place where he had parted ways with Aragorn, but Aragorn's tracks were difficult to see in the dark. Halbarad had little hope that they would be able to track him. The moon was veiled by the clouds and while the snow reflected the sparse light, it was still incredibly dark. They had brought torches, but those created more shadows than light.

His father sighed but shook his head, "Something must have happened to him, my son. We cannot stop our search, no matter how futile it may seem. The sun will rise in but a few hours and then our chances of finding him will be better." Halgel glanced at the slender figure a few lengths before them. "And Legolas's eyesight is keener than ours. As long as he sees the trail, we will follow."

Halbarad nodded, but said no more. He knew that elves had keener eyesight, but he had the suspicion that even Legolas had trouble to see the tracks in the dark. More than once they had been forced to double back, to retrace their steps, and then start over again. It was obvious that the darkness was hindering the fair elf, too. Right now, Legolas crouched in the snow, his head tilted to the side. His eyes scanned the ground, right and left, and he seemed frustrated. When he got to his feet and mounted his horse, his face showed his irritation. Legolas rode back to the group of rangers.

"I can no longer see the trail. It must have been blown away by the wind or new snow has fallen in this region. I lost his tracks." He shook his head and his hand balled into a fist. Legolas was worried, and a frown creased his brow.

"Then let us split up." Halgel said, trying to sound positive. "We are eight men. We split up in groups of two and search the area. Aragorn cannot have gotten far in his search of the cow, not when he kept his eyes on the ground as we do now. When we split up, we can cover more ground and probably find him ere the sun rises."

"Agreed." Legolas nodded his head. "But I will ride on my own. I can ride faster and search more ground then."

No one could disagree with that, and so the search party split up in smaller groups and headed out into the night. With worry pressing heavily on his heart, Legolas turned his horse and headed North-east, towards the river. That seemed to have been Aragorn's general direction, and Legolas hoped that he would find his friend and lover there. And as he rode, a feeling of foreboding gnawed at his innards, a feeling he could not shake.

*****

Another fist hit Aragorn in the back, and he barely suppressed a groan. He swung on the rope that held him suspended from the ceiling, and his toes scraped over the earthen floor. Not for the first time he wondered whether Lithdal was trying to kill him by turning him into one giant bruise.

It had taken the elf from Mirkwood hours to return to the small underground room. Aragorn did not know what had taken Lithdal so long. He had tried to use the time to free himself, but the ropes that bound him were strong. But, he had succeeded to loosen them a bit, and he had also found a rusty nail that he could use to cut the rope. He had just begun to shift towards the nail, when Lithdal returned. The elf's face had been a mask of control, and he had scarcely said a word to him. Instead, he had begun to hit him repeatedly, in the face, chest and back, using him as a punching bag. Right now, Lithdal seemed to be determined to turn his kidneys into pulp.

Groaning when Lithdal's fist slammed into his right side, Aragorn let his head hang. His breathing was labored and his shirt wet from his sweat. Would Lithdal never tire of his game? As if in answer, the elf hit him another time, this time right on his left kidney, and Aragorn could no longer suppress a chocked scream. He felt sick.

"Ah, finally." Lithdal purred from behind him. "My little human has found his voice." He gave Aragorn a strong shove that made him swing back and forth, before he stepped around to face him. "It took you long enough, Estel. I was beginning to wonder if you had swallowed your tongue." Lithdal laughed merrily, his voice bordering on insane once again. The former messenger lifted his hand and tucked a strand of Aragorn's sweaty hair behind the man's ear. It made Aragorn shiver and pull back involuntarily.

"Tsk, still so shy." Lithdal let his finger trail down Aragorn's cheek and yaw. "You were not so shy when you kissed me, touched me, Estel. I seem to remember that you enjoyed my attentions." When Aragorn merely glared at him, Lithdal laughed again, "Well, that were other times, you are right. Now, in hindsight, I cannot even comprehend the fact that I would have willingly let myself be besmirched by your hands. That thought is preposterous. My mind must have been bewitched by you. Maybe a little powerful potion that you mixed? I'm sure Lord Elrond taught you a lot of these things."

Aragorn shook his head inwardly. It was obvious that Lithdal had completely gone mad. The rejection the elf had felt, the imprisonment and the subsequent exile must have twisted his mind. Lithdal was now construing events and emotions in a way that made him the victim and Aragorn the aggressor. It was ridiculous. In that moment, Aragorn knew that there would be no reasoning with Lithdal.

When Aragorn did not answer to his question, Lithdal made to turn away, but without warning, he slammed his fist into Aragorn's face. His head snapped to the side and blood spurt from his nose. Moaning, Aragorn swallowed blood, before he spit it on the ground. The feeling of his warm blood running down his yaw and neck was horrible. His nose pounded terribly, and Aragorn feared that it was broken; it definitely felt like that. Suddenly, a hand was placed under his chin and his head forced upwards until he looked into Lithdal's eyes.

"Oh, poor Estel. Look at what you made me do." The elf touched the blood that ran freely down Aragorn's face. "Such a shame. I always thought you had a lovely face, Estel. So youthful and innocent." He let his gaze travel over Aragorn's beaten face and a smile formed on his lips, "Well, not any longer it seems. I wonder if that Princeling would even recognize you now." And with a sadistic gleam in his eyes Lithdal let go of his head and left the room.

Groaning, Aragorn lifted his head and rested it against his suspended arms. The pounding in his nose subsides somewhat, but blood still trickled down his face and throat. The room seemed suddenly stuffy and the air smelled of iron. In pain, Aragorn closed his eyes. With his tongue, he tested the strength of his teeth, a feeling of relief washing over him when none of them was loose. Valar, his whole body hurt. Lithdal had probably broken a rib or two, at least badly bruised them. His shoulders hurt from the strain of his weight, his fingers were almost numb from lack of blood, and his lower back seemed to be one big bruise. Aragorn hoped that Lithdal had not damaged his kidneys or liver.

He almost smiled at the thought. Did it matter? The elf was only playing with him, torturing him to death. Lithdal would kill him, sooner or later, so what did it matter if he was damaged before he was killed? But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, Aragorn frowned and clamped down on this feeling of macabre hopelessness. He was not dead yet, and he would fight Lithdal till the end. If the elf wanted to play with him before he killed him, fine, but as long as he drew breath, he would fight death. He was tired of being afraid of Lithdal, tired of the way the elf seemed to dictate his actions and thoughts.

And, Aragorn mused, he had been gone for many hours now. Halbarad would have returned to the village, as would Legolas. They would have marked his absence and maybe had even sent out a search party. The group would follow his tracks and find him. And he, Aragorn, would have to stay alive long enough to be rescued. The thought of Legolas searching for him did nothing to ease the worry in his stomach. What if Legolas was the one to find them? Then it would be like in his vision, and Lithdal would kill Legolas. That must not happen! But what could he do to change his vision? To keep it from coming true?

Aragorn thought about his vision, the pictures he had seen. What if he freed himself from his bonds and killed Lithdal before the elf could even touch Legolas? That was definitely an option, and Aragorn found new resolve. Shifting his weight and suppressing a groan as his back protested, he searched for and found the rusty nail. Slowly, he began to chafe at his bonds. And even if he could not kill Lithdal, he mused, he could try to flee. As long as he did not try to climb out of the well, everything would be fine.

*****

Legolas hit his saddle in frustration. Startled, his horse stepped to the side, swishing its tail nervously. "Sorry, girl." Legolas patted his horse, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He had ridden across the plains for hours now, and still there was no sign of Aragorn. On the horizon, the first orange and red illuminated the sky. Dawn was breaking.

During the night, his feeling of foreboding had only increased; it felt as if wolves were gnawing at his insides, eating him from the inside out. To make matters worse, the temperatures had slowly increased; Legolas could feel the change in the air. All around him, the snow had begun to melt. As soon as it was light, the temperatures would rise even more, and take the last snow of the season with them. And therewith thwart any chance to find Aragorn. Without any tracks to follow, it would be almost impossible to find him.

Frustrated, worried and close to surrender, Legolas gazed at the surrounding plains. Just then, the clouds broke overhead, and an early ray of morning light shot down from the sky. Following the milky beam with his eyes, Legolas saw the Bruinen shimmer in the distance; the river wound though the country like a blue snake. Following its flow northwards, something suddenly caught Legolas's eye. Narrowing his blue orbs, he peered into the dawn. Was that…a house?

It was as if a giant fist hit him in the stomach. A stone house. Next to a river. Snow. Dim light. In that moment, Legolas knew that he was looking at the house from Aragorn's vision. The house where he, Legolas, would die at the hand of an unknown assailant. Legolas's mouth went dry and he reflexively tightened his hold on the reins. He knew without a doubt that he would find Aragorn down there at the house. For a moment he considered to ride back and search for the rangers, but he quickly dismissed the thought. Aragorn was down there, he was certain, and if the assailant was down there, too, then Aragorn was in grave danger. Without hesitation, Legolas urged his horse forwards and rode down the small hill towards the stone house.

*****

Lithdal had returned a few hours later, and with him he had brought a small knife. Not one of the long hunting knives that were used to gut prey, nor one of the elven sigil that warriors carried. No, it had been a rather small knife, and for a moment Aragorn had taken it to be an eating knife. But then Lithdal had held the small knife in front of his eyes, and Aragorn had seen the sharp, thin blade. The blade was so thin, that Aragorn hoped that it would break as soon as it came into contact with his skin, but he was mistaken. The blade was strong, and with every cut that Lithdal carved into his skin, more blood welled up and trickled down his already abused body. The pain the blade evoked was enormous, and Aragorn had long ago given up to suppress his groans of pain. It was easier to bear the pain when one voiced it.

Another small cut joined the others on his body, and Aragorn hissed as the blade was removed from his skin. The cut burned, and blood soaked his shirt. After adorning his chest with tiny cuts, Lithdal had turned to his arms. It seemed the elf was determined to make him suffer without hurting him life threateningly. Creeping around him so that he could better reach the up side of Aragorn's arms, Lithdal whispered into his ear, "You know, I longed to do this since I returned to these lands. See you bleed, suffer." He cut away Aragorn's sleeve, then pressed the blade into his skin. A rivulet of blood poured down Aragorn's arm to his elbow. "You know that you deserve this, Estel, for all that you did to me. I will make you pay for your sins ere you die at my merciful hands, little human." Lithdal drew the blade along his arm, widening the cut, before he twisted the blade and removed it. Grunting, Aragorn flexed his fingers in a futile attempt to relieve some of the pain that shot up and down his arm.

Meanwhile, Lithdal moved to his other arm, his breath warm on his skin. "Oh poor little human." And Lithdal made another cut, and another. Then he paused, looking at Aragorn's pale face. The blade trembled in his hands, but his eyes were clear. "I wonder…" Lithdal said softly, then moved closer and held the blade in front of Aragorn's eyes. "Would your Princeling recognize you, even when your eyes were gone?" Lithdal pressed the tip of the blade on the soft skin under Aragorn's right eye. Aragorn dared not to breathe. "Or your nose?" Lithdal removed the knife and pressed it against his nose. A small, cruel smile tugged at the corners of Lithdal's lips, before he locked his eyes with Aragorn's. "I think I will save this for later."

Aragorn did not know how long Lithdal worked on him, but when the elf finally left the room, he hurt all over from a myriad of small cuts. His shirt and breeches were sticky with his own blood, and he could smell the sweet scent in the air. It was disgusting. But, despite the fact that Lithdal did his best to hurt him, to humiliate him, Aragorn still harbored his anger and hope of rescue. As soon as the door closed behind the elf, he shifted back towards the rusty nail and began to once more chafe at his bonds.

Already, his wrists were bleeding from the constant strain of moving his arms, but Aragorn did not cease in his efforts to free himself. After what seemed like hours, the first cords began to snap. After that, it was easy. With but a few strong tugs, he finally broke the bonds. The rope fell to the ground, and Aragorn, bereft of its support, crumbled to the ground in a heap. The air left his lungs with a whoosh.

Hissing at the pain that shot through his body, Aragorn climbed to his feet. He swayed for a moment and had to reach for the wall for support. When the world was stationary around him, he moved to the door as silently as he could. Had Lithdal heard his attempts to free himself? Had he heard his fall to the ground? With his ear pressed against the wood of the door, Aragorn listened, but the wood was thick and he could hear nothing but his own blood rushing in his ears.

Glancing around, he saw nothing that he could use as a weapon. Knowing that he had no other alternative, Aragorn slowly pushed the door open. Lithdal had not locked it – after all, what was the need, when Aragorn was bound and helpless? – and it swung open effortlessly. Instinctively, Aragorn prepared himself for an attack, but none came. Looking around, he saw that the room behind the door was empty. Lithdal, was gone.

Encouraged, he exited the chamber and slowly made his way over to the table. Atop lay a small dagger, its blade tarnished and blunt. But it was better than nothing, and Aragorn gripped it tightly. The room held no more weapons, at least none that Aragorn could see, and he quickly made his way over to the corridor. His senses were on alert, and his breathing almost painful. Lithdal could wait for him behind every corner, could attack him any second. Aragorn tried to be silent, but his injuries hindered and pained him, and he knew that he was not as silent as he was used to. And Lithdal was an elf…he would hear him from miles away.

With fear and anticipation clotting his stomach, Aragorn moved towards the corridor. At the corner, he pressed his back against the wall, the dagger held tightly in his hand. He peered into the dark passageway, but could detect no movement. Heartened, he slipped into the passage towards the stairs. He stopped. There was no sign of Lithdal, no sound coming from above him. But what if the elf was waiting for him upstairs, ready to behead him the moment he stuck his head out? A shudder raced down his spine at the thought. His gaze came to rest on the corridor that led to the well. He could climb up….Lithdal would not see him.

Aragorn turned towards the corridor that led to the well, where a dim light filtered down from above. But he had barely taken a step when he stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening. His vision! In his pain and worry clouded mind, he had almost forgotten his vision. If he climbed out of the well, he would do just as he had done in his vision. And Legolas – if he was really up there somewhere – would die. With an angry rebuke at himself, Aragorn turned back to the stairs and climbed them as swiftly as he could. His fingers were still a bit numb and his whole body hurt. The trapdoor was not locked and Aragorn peeked out. The house was bathed in dim morning light, and completely empty. He climbed out of the hole and let the trapdoor fall shut with an almost inaudible creak.

Looking around, he saw no movement, heard no sound. He seemed to be utterly alone. That was, until the nervous neighing of a horse reached his ears… followed by the nicker of another, a second horse. He had seen no horse of Lithdal's when he had arrived. That could only mean…Legolas! Without another thought, Aragorn stumbled to the open doorway. In but a second his gaze found Legolas's tall form leaning over the balustrade of the well.

"Legolas!"

*****

Upon nearing the stone house, Legolas saw that a horse had been secured to the low wooden fence that surrounded the building. Next to the horse stood a cow, bound to the saddle. It was Aragorn's horse, Legolas would recognize it any time. Coming closer, Legolas scanned the surroundings. There were tracks in the melting snow, but it were obviously Aragorn's, for they led straight away from the horse. Otherwise, the snow was unblemished. Legolas frowned and unsheathed one of his daggers. Danger lay in the air and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Something was not right. When he secured his horse next to Aragorn's, he could not shake the feeling that he was being watched.

He slowly circled the house, but found no signs of a struggle, no traces of blood. His way led him over to the front door, where Aragorn's tracks ended. It seemed the young man had entered, but not exited the house. Confused, Legolas was to enter the house, when he remembered the vision. So, he slowly walked backwards, his eyes trained on the house, until his back hit the well. Only then did he turn around and glance down into the shaft. It was dark, but he could make out the shimmering surface of water far beneath. But there was no sign of his friend and lover. Frustrated, but still alert, Legolas was to turn around, when his name was being called.

"Legolas!"

*****

His breath came in sharp hisses as his hand stroked his pounding flesh. With his back pressed against a tree and his head tilted back, Lithdal let the sensation of his pleasuring wash over his body. Again, being close to Aragorn, to touch him, feel his warmth and hear his voice, had heated Lithdal. So much so that he had to escape Aragorn's closeness and seek release. This time, he had gone further from the house, knowing that his lust had reached a peak, where his release would not be a quiet one. He did not want Aragorn to hear, and so he had walked a short ways away from the house, his feet leaving no trace on the snow.

With a grunt, he tightened his fingers around his length, squeezing it tightly while he stroked. His pace quickened and when he felt his release close, he lifted his other arm towards his mouth to stifle his lusty groan. With another hard tug and twist of his fingers, he spilled himself copiously. Panting, Lithdal let his peak wash over him until the worst of the tremors had passed. A small smile graced his lips, but he grimaced and willed it away. It would not do for him to revel in the sensations that his close proximity to the human evoked. But still, he mused as he closed his breeches and pushed away from the tree, he had never before felt such highs when he had taken himself in hand before. It was a good feeling. Maybe he should keep the human around a while longer. Maybe he could even have his way with him…after all, would bedding that whelp really besmirch him? Did rulers and conquerors not take the lesser and conquered all the time?

But before Lithdal could think more on that trail of thought, he heard the unmistakable sound of neighing horses. Someone had found them! He immediately ducked close to the ground and peered towards the house. His features became a grimace of hatred as he watched the Prince of Mirkwood stalk around the house, dagger in hand. Lithdal cursed under his breath, but stayed calm. That Princeling had not detected him, and it would be easy to kill him.

As silent as only an elf could, Lithdal hushed across the snow, jumped over the low fence and hid behind the house. When Legolas reached the well, Lithdal rounded the house and climbed through one of the windows. His eyes widened as he saw the tall figure that stood in the doorway. How in the name of the Valar had Aragorn freed himself? A shout reached his ears.

"Legolas!"

Anger, betrayal and hatred washed over him, making him forget his bliss of just moments ago. An image appeared before his eyes. Of him killing the human there and then, right in front of the Princeling's eyes. Oh, it would be great to see the Prince so helpless.

With the stealth of a predator, Lithdal crossed the room, drew his own sigil, came up behind Aragorn, and without a sound, he plunged the sigil deep into Aragorn's back, until the blade vanished and the hilt scraped at the fabric of the man's closing. Aragorn stiffened, half turned his head backwards, his eyes wide, before he collapsed to the ground without so much as a sound. The sigil was ripped free, and bright red blood spilled from the ugly wound. The white snow turned crimson.

"ESTEL!"

To be continued.

**Uhm, cliffie? *evilgrin***


	6. Written in Blood

**Finally...**

Chapter 6: Written in blood

Legolas could not believe what he was seeing. With his face already covered in dried blood, his clothing tattered and ripped, Aragorn stood in the doorway, calling his name. His eyes sparkled in the dim morning light and a smile was just forming on his lips. And a second later, incredible pain washed across his face, his eyes widened, he looked over his shoulder and then crumbled to the ground without a sound. There he lay, unmoving, while crimson red stained the white snow.

"ESTEL!" The name ripped from Legolas' lips without his conscious thought. For a split second he realized that this was just the vision that Aragorn must have seen, only with their roles reversed. Heedless of the danger in the house, of the one who had hurt his friend and lover, Legolas rushed towards Aragorn's side.

Crashing to his knees, he took Aragorn by the shoulder and turned him around. "Estel? Can you hear me? Estel?" Aragorn's eyes were closed, his face paler than the snow. Blood dripped from his lips, but Legolas could not tell if the blood came from the split lip or the wound to his abdomen. Shock tore through the elf when his eyes fell on the wound.

"Oh no, please Valar no." He wailed softly, cradling Aragorn closer and inspecting the wound with his fingers. The weapon had ripped right through Aragorn's back and exited at his right side under his ribs, tearing muscle and skin. Crimson blooded oozed from the wound, drenching his shirt and breeches, before it seeped into the snow. It even steamed in the cool morning air.

Stunned, Legolas pressed his hand on the ugly wound. He knew that it was insufficient, but what was he to do?! With his other hand, he gently caressed Aragorn's cheek, "Estel please, open your eyes. Talk to me, meleth (love). Don't leave me, Estel, not now, when I have finally found you. Halbarad is on his way, and Halgel, too. Help is coming, Estel, please, wake up. Please, meleth (love)."

Too his surprise but immense relief, Aragorn eyelids fluttered, before they opened weakly. Pain shone in the argent depths, mingled with worry and a hint of fear. Aragorn tried to speak, but no words came out. He tried again, licking his lips, "Legolas."

"Aye, I'm here, Estel. I'm here and I won't leave. Don't move, everything will be alright, you'll see." Legolas sobbed, cradling Aragorn even closer. A tear slid down his face, but he did not brush it away. "Just stay with me Estel. Help is coming."

But Aragorn struggled in his arms, trying to break free. When he moved, an agonized scream ripped from his lips, chilling Legolas to the bones. Panting, Aragorn stopped his struggles, but his eyes bored into Legolas'. His words were barely understandable, for his voice was weak now, his strength fading, "Legolas…leave me. Go, flee."

"What? No, Estel, I won't leave you. I would never leave you, love." Legolas was bewildered at the request; his mind was only focused on saving Aragorn's life, and he had forgotten the danger he was in.

With his last remaining strength, Aragorn gripped Legolas' hand in his cold fingers, "Legolas, forgive me." And then his eyes rolled back into his head and he lost consciousness. "Estel??" Legolas nearly screamed, mortified at the sight of the lifeless body in his arms. Suddenly, there was a sound to his right, footsteps on the snow.

But before he could do anything more than turn his eyes and recognize the person standing behind him, the hilt of a dagger crashed down on his head. Blackness engulfed him and he knew no more.

*****

Lithdal laid Aragorn down on the table in the cellar with a dull thud. The human had not woken during the small trip down the stairs and through the tunnel, but Lithdal was not surprised; the wound was serious, and it was questionable whether the human would survive at all. After depositing Aragorn, Lithdal returned to the surface, grabbed Legolas and brought him down into his realm as well. Just as he had done with Aragorn a day prior, he brought the unconscious Legolas into the small adjacent room, bound his hands and secured him to the beam in the ceiling. But this time, he pulled the knots extra tight and secured them with another rope, so that any chafing of the bonds on the wood was made impossible. Closing the door behind him, Lithdal returned to Aragorn's side.

For a moment he simply stared down at the lifeless body. Blood dripped onto the table from the horrid wound. After a moment, a small red rivulet sneaked towards the table's edge, before it landed with a soft 'drip' 'drip' 'drip' on the earthen floor. Aragorn was pale, his breathing labored. Lithdal wondered idly how long it would take the young human to bleed to death.

But while his appearance was calm, his mind raced. From the moment he had plunged his dagger into Aragorn's back, right to this very moment, his mind had made somersaults. He wanted Aragorn dead. He had wished for his slow, painful demise. So why had he not plunged his dagger into Aragorn's neck? Or sliced him from head to foot? And why had he not killed that Princeling? The chance had been perfect. 'Lovers even in death', Lithdal mused with not little irritation. And then he suddenly knew why he had not killed them. Because it would have been too perfect. Because both would have been together when they died, holding each other, giving the other strength and support even in death. And, they would have crossed the threshold to Namo's Halls together. No, that was something that Lithdal could not accept. For as much as he wanted Aragorn and Legolas dead, he also wanted Legolas to suffer. To feel as he had felt when he had been exiled; cut off from love, alone, fading. Yes, he wanted to see Legolas fade from grief. That was why he had not killed him.

And Aragorn…Lithdal watched as more blood seeped from the wound. Now that the young man stood so close to death's door, Lithdal was no longer sure if this was what he wanted. Had it not been pure bliss to think of Aragorn while he took himself? Had it not stirred his heart to be close to him once more? And how much more fun would it be to kill him with his bare hands?

Whatever his reasons, Lithdal abruptly knew that he did not want Aragorn to die just yet. This thought catapulted him out of his lethargic state. Lithdal quickly grabbed a discarded tunic and pressed it against the wound with both hands. Aragorn jerked, but did not waken. The fabric soaked up the blood, but it quickly welled out between his fingers. Another piece of clothing was added, but it soaked through immediately. And while Lithdal watched, more blood pooled on the table under Aragorn's body from the wound to his back. Lithdal knew that he would never be able to stop the bleeding with just his hands.

But Lithdal had been a messenger for King Thranduil, and as such he had experienced much and seen even more. And what was maybe even more important, he had been taught the basics of healing wounds. So, he swiftly stoked the fire in the small underground hearth and put a dagger with a wide blade into the glowing embers. While he continued to keep pressure on the wound, he watched as the blade first turned orange and then white. Moping sweat from his brow, Lithdal removed the blade from the coals. He weighted it in his hands for a moment, his eyes on Aragorn's lifeless from.

Before he could hesitate, before he could dispute his decision, Lithdal stepped towards Aragorn, ripped his shirt away and pressed the hot blade against the exit wound. Immediately, the skin around the blade turned red and then back, steam rose into the air and the whole room began to stink of burned flesh. But Lithdal had anticipated that. What he had not anticipated, was the choked, agonized scream that spilled forth from Aragorn's mouth. Aragorn's eyes snapped open, their gaze blurred and unfocused. His back arched, and his arms tried to grip something, anything. And all the while his pain filled voice filled the small room, echoing from the walls. Only when Lithdal removed the blade, the wound now cauterized, did Aragorn slump back onto the table, trembling, sweating and exhausted. His eyes were closed, but Lithdal knew that he had not fallen unconscious again.

Without being gentle about it, Lithdal inspected the wound. It was black and blistering, but no more blood oozed from it. It would leave an ugly scar. Lithdal smiled, then returned the blade to the hungry flames. Another turn awaited it. Standing in front of the hearth, Lithdal waited for the blade to be ready. He was startled when Aragorn spoke, his voice weak and barely audible.

"Why?"

Grey eyes met blue, and Lithdal stepped up towards the table and glanced down at the bleeding human. Aragorn did not even have the strength to lift his head. But his question burned brightly in his slightly unfocused gaze. Lithdal pondered the question for a moment before he answered honestly. It was maybe the first time that he was truly honest with Aragorn, "I don't know." Then he returned to the flames, where the blade began to sing with the heat.

The second time was as bad as the first. Lithdal turned Aragorn unceremoniously onto his stomach, ignoring his screams of pain and his raged breathing. Without hesitation, he pressed the glowing dagger onto the wound until the flesh sizzled. Aragorn's screams stopped abruptly halfway through, the pain being too much for him to bear. But instead of _his_ screams, Legolas' voice filled the room.

"ESTEL!!" He yelled, again and again, his voice catching with emotion. Legolas, having been awaked from his unconsciousness by Aragorn's agonized screams, feared for his friend's life, imagined the most horrid things that Lithdal was doing to him. He tugged at his bonds, tried to free himself, but to no avail. Lithdal had been thorough with his captive. When all went silent behind the door, Legolas felt tears stream down his face, and a sob left his throat. Please Valar, he begged, don't let Estel be dead. Please….

And Aragorn was not dead. Lithdal had cruelly, but sufficiently closed the wounds. Aragorn had lost a lot of blood, but not enough to kill him. After cauterizing the two grievous wounds, Lithdal bathed them with water, before he applied some herbs and bound them with cloth. He did not know whether his treatment was sufficient, but he hoped that the young human would not die under his hands. At least, not until he had figured out what he wanted to do with him.

But while Lithdal had no inkling what he wanted to do with Aragorn, he knew that he had to leave the house as quickly as possible. That Princeling had spoken of men who were on their way, maybe searching for Aragorn. And when Legolas had been able to find him, then the others would, too. So, Lithdal wrapped Aragorn into a thick cloak, slung him over his shoulders, and brought him out of the cellar. He placed him on the cold floor in the house, before he returned underground. What would he need? He swiftly packed a few things that he would undoubtedly need on his flight, then turned and made his way over to the tunnel. He stopped.

Slowly, his head turned back towards the room. The table was covered in sticky blood, as was the floor. Soaked cloth was scattered on the ground, and the dagger he had used to cauterize the wounds was sparkling red with blood, too. Lithdal's gaze fell on the door behind which Legolas was being held captive. And a cruel smile came to his lips. With but a few steps he was at the table, then at the wall, then at the door behind which Legolas sobbed softly. When he was done, Lithdal turned and left the room without a backwards glance. He would have his revenge on that Princeling.

Once outside, Lithdal deposited Aragorn on his own horse, then climbed behind him. The sun was already high in the sky, although hid by clouds. The snow was slowly melting, here and there the green of the plains shone through. Securing Legolas' horse to the saddle, Lithdal turned both horses around. Where would he go? North? South? West or East? The rangers lived somewhere to the West, Rivendell lay to the East. He could not go there without the risk of being detected. And, as far as he knew, rangers guarded the North. Lithdal turned his horse towards the South. The South, then. But he would head North, first, to cross the Bruinen, before heading South. The mountains on the other side of the river would protect him from hostile eyes. With a soft command, he turned his horse and headed North.

*****

It had been silent for too long, and Legolas was near frantic with worry. He tugged at the bonds, twisted and shifted, but the cords would not break. Frustrated, he paused for a moment in his efforts and glanced at the door. The memory of Aragorn's agonized screams vibrated in his mind, and he grimaced at the emotional pain it caused. His Estel, his love…what had Lithdal done to him? Was he still alive? For a moment, Legolas imagined that Aragorn lay just behind the door, bleeding and helpless. A shudder raced down his spine, and with renewed strength, he once more worked the ropes that bound him. While he worked, his mind raced.

How was it possible that Lithdal was here, in Eriador? The warriors who had accompanied him to the Grey Havens had reported that he had boarded a ship. They had seen the ship sail into the West. So how was it possible? And why had Lithdal not killed him immediately? What was his plan? Unbidden, images of Aragorn's bleeding body flashed behind his eyes, and a sob rose in his throat. Had Aragorn not suffered enough already? Had Lithdal not hurt him more than enough? The emotional scars that Aragorn had sustained after Lithdal's last attack had taken almost a year to heal. If he survived this newest horror, what would it do to his soul? Would he ever be able to heal?

Desperate, Legolas tugged at the bonds, only to realize that he was truly trapped. He would never be able to free himself on his own. He screamed with anger and frustration, pulling so strongly at the bonds that they cut into his skin. Why did this happen to them? What had they done to anger the Valar so much that they would burden them once again with Lithdal?

Lithdal…what was the former messenger doing to Aragorn? Were they still out there, or had Lithdal left Aragorn behind and then fled? But why would he? Legolas was bound, Aragorn dangerously injured. Lithdal had all the time in Arda to do with them whatever he wanted. At the thought, Legolas' blood ran cold. Whatever he wanted…

"ESTEL!" The scream ripped through the room, echoed from the walls and deafened Legolas. When no response came, the Prince let his head fall back on his chest. Why Estel? Why his young lover? It should have been him! Aragorn had seen _his_ death, not his own. A sob left his lips, but Legolas did nothing to keep his desperate wail inside. Should Lithdal hear him, he did not care. All he cared about was to see Aragorn, to make sure that he would survive. With this thought, Legolas once more began to free himself. He had just managed to shift his bonds a bit on the beam, when his sensitive ears heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps. Heavy footsteps.

He stopped dead in his movements and listened. He could make out the footsteps of at least two persons, maybe three. It took him a moment to realize that the footsteps were too heavy to belong to an elf. The Dunedain!

"Here! Ho, I am here!" He called out, tugging at his bonds, although he knew that he could not free himself. A few seconds later, the footsteps neared the door, which was opened a moment later. In the dim light that fell through the door, Legolas could make out Halgel's face. The man's face was pale, his sword raised. When the man saw Legolas' form suspended from the ceiling, he swiftly stepped into the room and cut him free.

"Prince Legolas, what happened? Who did this to you?"

But Legolas ignored him and practically ran out of the room, "Have you seen Estel? Is he here?" He had barely left the small room in which he had been held, when his mind suddenly went totally blank at the sight that greeted him in the other room. Legolas froze, staring, barely breathing. Time stood still.

The table in the room was covered in half dried blood. It pooled at the deeper impressions in the wood. Spatters of crimson marred the floor, the chair. It was spread across the walls, in bright red streaks, for it was still wet. It even enframed the doorframe of the room in which Legolas had been held. He had literally walked through a door of blood. Legolas knew without a doubt that it was Aragorn's blood. But what was worse than the amount of blood in the room, what was worse than the deliberately placed blood spatters on the walls and door, was the blood on the far wall of the room. It was the wall right in front of the door. It was the first thing Legolas saw upon entering the room.

There, in bright crimson blood, words had been written on the wall.

"_He is mine now._

_You'll never find his body._"

With an animalistic scream ripping from his throat, Legolas fell to his knees, his head bowed in anger and grief.

"NO!"

To be continued.

**Uhm, reviews, anyone? ;)**


	7. A desperate Search

Chapter 7: A desperate search

„_There, in bright crimson blood, words had been written on the wall._

"_He is mine now._

_You'll never find his body."_

_With an animalistic scream ripping from his throat, Legolas fell to his knees, his head bowed in anger and grief._

"_NO!"_ "

Legolas lost all feeling of time as he crouched on the ground, his heart tearing inside his chest. He smelled the metallic scent of blood on his tongue, again and again relived the moment when he stepped out of the room and saw all the blood. Aragorn's blood. The message. Aragorn was dead. Lithdal had killed him while he had been next door, helpless. And Lithdal had taken Aragorn with him, and Legolas would never see him again. Lithdal had not even left him his body to mourn and bury.

It was only when a strong had gripped his shoulder that Legolas came out of his trancelike state. Looking up out of bloodshot eyes, he found himself face to face with Halgel, Halbarad's father. The man looked grim, his face pale. There was a seriousness in his eyes that Legolas had not seen before. Squeezing Legolas' shoulder once more, almost painfully, Halgel spoke first, "What happened here, Prince Legolas? Whose blood is this, and do you know who did this? Who bound you?"

Even before Legolas answered, he could see that Halgel already suspected the answer, probably even knew it by instinct. Slowly getting to his feet, his arms shaking and his knees weak, Legolas took a moment to get his composure. Halgel was not alone; another ranger stood near to him, and his son Halbarad stood at the entrance to the tunnel, looking sick.

The Prince stepped up to the table and stared at the blood that had pooled on the surface, and was now beginning to dry. In a slow motion, he touched it with his fingers, staring at it as if he had never seen blood before. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft,

"It is Estel's blood. All of it." There was a sharp intake of breaths behind him, but Legolas ignored the men. "What happened in this room, I cannot tell you, for I was bound in the other room. But he must have k-…" Legolas' voice broke and he took a deep breath, "But he must have killed him after locking me up. I heard his screams of pain …" Legolas stopped, unable to continue. His hands balled into fists and he braced his weight against the table.

"Prince Legolas, please, we must know who did this. Maybe he is still around." Halgel demanded, his voice even grimmer now. There was an edge to it that Legolas had heard numerous times: Halgel was denying what Legolas had just told him, he was denying that Aragorn was dead.

"His name is Lithdal, and he is a former messenger of Mirkwood." Pushing away from the table, Legolas gestured at the room, "He was exiled a year ago, but he must have found a way to return. He hid here and somehow…Estel came across him and then… Lithdal attacked him from behind and pierced him with a dagger." He looked at all the blood that covered the walls and floor and closed his eyes in anguish. "Estel cannot have survived this."

To his surprise, Halbarad spoke up, his voice agitated, "We don't know this! Aragorn might as well be still alive. Have we proof that he is dead? No! There is no body. Maybe this messenger took him with him and now only tries to lead us astray. Although I cannot say why he might do this." The young human uttered the last sentence in almost a whisper, for his heart might not believe that his friend and cousin had died such a grisly death, but his mind could not ignore the gruesome sight before him.

"Son, please…" Halgel began to shush his son, but Legolas took comfort from the words. Lifting his head and taking a deep breath, he nodded weakly at the young Dunadan, "You are right, young Halbarad. Estel might still be alive." Legolas walked towards Halbarad and placed his hand on his shoulder, just like Halgel had done with him. "And if he is not, Lithdal will pay for what he did. And this time I will make sure that he gets what he deserves. No more mercy with him, no more delay." His steely eyes bored into Halbarad's, who shuddered under the gaze. He had never known that elves could look so deadly.

Quickly, the three rangers and Legolas examined the room to find any clue as to what had happened or where Lithdal might have brought Aragorn, but they found nothing. They left the room and returned to the surface. The clouds had broken and milky sunlight streamed down onto the ground, melting the snow quickly now.

At the door, the snow had turned into a red puddle. Shuddering at the sight, Legolas stepped across it and out into the small garden. Two more rangers stood at the fence, guarding the perimeter. Halgel informed them of what they had found, and the rangers shook their heads in earnest grief and disbelief. Legolas was moved by the gesture, although his heart was already bleeding fiercely from the loss he felt. Despite the short time that Aragorn had stayed with the rangers, it was obvious that he had been respected and loved. He would be greatly missed.

At the sight of the bowed heads of the Dunedain, emotions of loss and hurt and heartbreaking sorrow assaulted Legolas, and he had to turn away. Moving away from the rangers, he leaned against the fence. His hands gripped the old wood so tightly that splinters cut into his skin, but he did not even notice the pain.

Lithdal…how in the name of the Valar was it possible that he was still in Arda? How had he escaped exile? And what had he done to Aragorn? Was his friend and lover still alive? Or was he truly dead, just as Lithdal had written on the wall? And how could Aragorn still be alive when so much of his blood had been spilled?

He gripped the fence even tighter, drawing blood. If he ever got his fingers at Lithdal, he would kill the elf for what he had done. He would find him, hunt him down and then make him pay. Raising his head to the sky, Legolas there and then swore, that he would not rest ere he had found Lithdal and revenged his friend. Even if it was the last thing he ever did.

Wiping away the tears that had strayed from his eyes, Legolas made to return to the Dunedain, when his eyes fell on the ground at his feet. The snow as melting, leaving sodden earth behind. But…the snow was _melting_, yes, but it was not yet _gone_. It was as if this revelation revived him. There was still snow on the ground!

Legolas felt a rush of energy surge through him. With but a few swift strides he was at the side of the house, where his horse had been. It was gone, as was Aragorn's. He could spot the cow that had been bound to Aragorn's saddle a few leagues away, grazing. So, Lithdal had taken both horses to make his escape. Could that maybe mean that he had not killed Aragorn and that he man had been riding under his own power, forced maybe? Hope flashed through him, but Legolas quickly suppressed the feeling. No, it was not possible. There had been too much blood, and he had seen the ugly wound with his own eyes. But maybe…try as much as he might to guard his fragile heart, Legolas had new hope that Aragorn was alive.

And, he would be able to follow Lithdal! Elves might not leave traces in the snow, but horses did. He would find the elf, and with him, Aragorn. Or his body. At least, then, he would be able to give him a proper burial. Say his farewell. And kill Lithdal once and for all.

Returning to the downcast rangers, Legolas relayed his discoveries. In but minutes, the rangers readied the horses and set out to hunt the elf who had dared to lay hands on their recently returned Lord. Legolas, his horse being taken by Lithdal, guided Halbarad's horse, while the young man rode with his father.

For two hours they traced Lithdal. Two hours in which they headed North, alongside the river Bruinen. While they rode the sun travelled higher in the sky, melting the snow quicker and quicker. As they reached the ford, Legolas finally lost the tracks. The riverbed was muddy, the river itself swollen from the snowmelt. He could see that Lithdal had crossed the river, but he had no way to tell if he had followed it northwards, had turned South, or even headed towards the East, where the Misty Mountains lay. With a heavy heart, even Legolas, with his keen elvish eyesight, had to admit temporary defeat.

Staring at his companions, he sighed deeply, "Even I cannot make out their tracks in this sludge. They could have headed back towards the house and I would not be able to tell."

"Then we split up to cover more ground." Halgel proposed. During their tracking, the man had seemed to age by the minute. It was apparent that Aragorn's supposed demise had hit him hard. But nevertheless, Halgel was as determined as the other rangers to find Aragorn and Lithdal. To what end, though, Legolas did not know. However, he would make sure that it was his blade that made an end to Lithdal's miserable existence. But that he agreed with Halgel's sentiment did not mean that he agreed with his proposal.

"I think we should head back." He said, causing the Dunedain to look at him in some surprise. Seeing that Legolas seemed determined to find Lithdal with all haste, it was strange that he would now propose to turn back. But Legolas had his reasons.

"Even if we split up and search in small groups, we will not be able to find their tracks. We need help, more men. More men means more eyes. Lithdal is known in Imladris, therefore I cannot imagine that he headed East, but I cannot put it aside him, either. He is mad, crazy. But while his heart may be sick and his mind twisted, he is not brainless. He will know that we will look for him and he will try to stay undetected.

I wager that he headed South, but I don't know for sure. The South is only sparsely populated, even the Dunedain do not patrol the area. It would be the perfect hiding place. But he knows that too, and probably headed North, just because of that.

No, we need more men if we want to have even the slightest chance of finding him." Legolas locked his eyes with Halgel's, "And we need to inform his brothers, the Lords Elladan and Elrohir. They are at the Grey Havens."

Halgel, seeing the truth in the Prince's words, nodded his head. When they broke off the search and headed back towards the village of the rangers, their hearts were heavy and their shoulders burdened by their decision. Legolas in particular had the feeling that he had abandoned his friend, but he knew that he had made the right decision. When they returned late in the afternoon, a runner was send out to the Grey Havens to bring the bad news to Lord Elrond's twin sons, while small groups of rangers prepared to leave on a desperate search.

Eriador was unbelievably big. They were searching for the needle in the haystack.

*****

Pain. Overwhelming pain and the urge to voice his agony by screaming his lungs out. That was the first thing Aragorn became aware of after a long time of darkness. His body hurt at so many places that he could not distinguish where which pain was coming from, but the worst of it centered at his right side. It felt as if something long and sharp had been pushed right through him, tearing at skin and muscle, scattering bones. And oh, he was tired. His limbs refused to do as he bid them, and his mind was sluggish, as if his head was clouded in wool.

Aragorn woke only slowly. His body was awake, calling for his attention, but his mind was reluctant to break free from the painless, worriless sphere where it had rested. Why awake when only agony waited to greet you? But Aragorn, having been injured before, knew that waking up was essential to survival, and so he forced his mind to alertness. The more alert he became, the worse got the pain. He was surprised when a whimper left his lips although he had not meant to voice his hurting. It was almost a shock when strong hands gripped him and pressed him against something hard, unyielding. Aragorn had not noticed that he was not alone!

His mind began to fiercely struggle to wake now. He felt that he was riding, with someone holding him in the saddle. The horse was walking swiftly, but it was not running. Around him, he heard the rushing of a river. And then, as if the sound of the river was dousing him in the memory of icy cold water, he remembered. Everything.

With a start, he sat up straight, his instinct to flee overwhelming him. He barely sat up when a blinding pain shot through his side, making him gasp for breath. Fire engulfed him, he sagged forward, his strength spent immediately. Strong hands pulled him back, settling him against a shoulder. Panting, his lungs only allowing small amounts of air to enter, Aragorn felt himself slip away again. But before the darkness overtook him once more, he heard Lithdal's indifferent voice at his ear, "You should not overexert yourself, Estel. We have a long journey ahead of us yet."

Aragorn had no knowledge of how long he had been unconscious, but when he awoke next and opened his eyes, it was dark around him. He was still sitting on a horse, as the bumping movement under him proved. The horse was trudging on slowly, but even so, every step caused a sharp, almost unbearable pain to lance through his side. It was as if someone was repeatedly poking him with a red hot poker. Gritting his teeth, he tried to sit up straighter, but Lithdal's strong arms immediately pulled him backwards. "Stay still, human. You will only irritate your wound and make your situation worse. And be warned. Should you try to struggle and flee, I will fling you from this horse and let it trample you to death."

Aragorn had no doubt that Lithdal would do just that. But that raised the question why he was still alive in the first place. Struggling to keep his agony out of his voice and failing miserably, Aragorn asked, "Why did you not let me die? Why threaten to kill me when you went to such lengths to keep me alive?"

Lithdal took his time to ponder the question before he answered, "I want to be honest with you Estel, just like I have been all these days since the Valar granted my wish. At first I thought I did not kill you because I wanted to kill you another way. Like I said, I wanted you to die with my hands at your throat, throttling the life out of you. But now I think the reason why I did not kill you, even saved you, is because I am not yet weary of your presence." Lithdal tightened his arms around him, "I want to have some more fun with you before I send you to the Halls of Mandos to meet your forefathers."

At those words, Aragorn almost wished that he had died. The elf's words inspired fear and disgust in him, unearthing memories that he had hoped were long buried. But they were not. Unbidden, images of his stay in Mirkwood entered his mind, the night that Lithdal had attacked him. He shuddered, fighting the urge to throw up. To struggle. To escape. To try … anything, just to get away from the elf who had already once nearly destroyed his life. But he knew he could not. His body was not strong enough. Already, he was slipping away again into the darkness. But he had to know one more thing before he could let go.

"What about Legolas?"

The answer came quick and crushing. "He is dead. He will not trouble us again."

Dead. Dead. Dead. The word echoed in Aragorn's head, again and again. Legolas was dead. Lithdal had killed him. Of course he would, he had tried it before. Shock claimed Aragorn, quick and brutal, and he slipped away into the darkness of his mind, hopeless, suffering, and bleeding from a shattered heart. His mind was already gone when a lone, silver tear rolled down his cheek.

*****

_A week later…_

"It has been a week and we have found no sign of their passing, heard no whisper of their whereabouts." Legolas slammed his fist into the tree next to him, making its leaves rustle. "We are no closer to finding them then we had been the day Estel vanished."

Halbarad glanced at the agitated elf, but he did not know what to answer, for he agreed with him. A week ago, they had stood in the room that someone had turned into a slaughterhouse. And while they had had the hope that they would soon find a trace of Aragorn and his kidnapper, they had not. Groups of two or three rangers had spread out, North, East, South and West, had travelled to remote houses, sheds, farms and all the possible hiding places the rangers knew, but there was still no sign of the two. It was as if the ground had swallowed them.

Legolas, having been grouped with Halgel, had ridden South, his eyes glued to the ground. But try as he might, he had not been able to espy their tracks. This evening, Halgel and he had met with Halbarad and another ranger. In the morning, they would resume their search. However, with every day that passed without a sign, Legolas' hopes of finding his lover diminished. Not even the message that Elladan and Elrohir had arrived at the rangers' village and had taken up the search could lift his heart. The twins must have ridden with the swiftness of the Ringwraith to reach the rangers this swiftly. But the tracks were a week old, it had rained two days ago…not even the twins, maybe the most skilled trackers in Arda, would be able to find them. Legolas slowly began to despair.

Aragorn was gone. Maybe forever. It was more than possible that he had succumbed to his injury during this week, even if he had been alive when he had left the house in the first place. And he, Legolas, had not only stood by while Lithdal had hurt him, no, he had even been unable to stop Lithdal from hitting him over the head, so that he could bind him, while he did Valar knew what to Estel, before he took him away from him. It would have been his task to protect Aragorn, to help him. Not stand by and do nothing! Guilt gnawed at Legolas' and he slipped into grief-laden, guilt-ridden, hopeless despair. His mood swings caused the rangers to frown, and at the end of the week that he had ridden with Halgel, the man had more and more kept his thoughts to himself, leaving Legolas alone with his musings.

Only Halbarad, the youngest of the rangers who participated in the search, had found the courage to approach Legolas this night. The youngster was deeply shocked by Aragorn's abduction. While he had seen death, even in his young years, it had never been someone he had personally known, had called friend and even cousin. Aragorn's fate had shown him the cruelty of Arda, the whimsical moment that could destroy a life. Or two. And while Halbarad sought to be reassured that life was not as cruel as he had just witnessed – knowing full well that there was no such reassurance – he also felt that Legolas needed someone to turn to. Someone who listened, who would be there for him, even if only to bear the brunt of his anger and frustration. Therefore, he had gone to seek out the elf, who had left the small fire they had build, to escape into the small grove of trees.

When Legolas merely stared at the trees, his face a mask of anger and despair, Halbarad plucked up his courage. "We may not have found a sign of their passing, but maybe others have. He may be an elf, but even he cannot travel through this region unnoticed. Someone will have seen them, and we will hear about it. I'm sure that we will find them."

Legolas gazed at him, his face unreadable. "The only question is, young Dunadan, will we find them before it is too late? Or is it already too late?" He turned back to glance at the trees around them, "Lithdal is cunning, his mind sharp. I doubt that we will find them if he doesn't want to be found."

"But Aragorn is with him." Halbarad said, shrugging a bit awkwardly. It felt not entirely right with him to argue with an elf who was millennia his senior. Not even his own father took him really seriously! "Aragorn is injured, and that will slow this elf down. He will need to find shelter for them, food, clothing, water. Healing supplies and materials. Sooner or later they will have to contact other humans. And then we have them. It is only a matter of time."

Raising an eyebrow, Legolas weakly smiled at Halbarad, "Estel has never told me that you are such a steadfast man, Halbarad. That your conviction in what you believe drives you on." He came to stand at Halbarad's side and patted him on the shoulder in gratitude, "While my heart believes you, my mind and experience does not. But I thank you for your support, Halbarad. I will not forget your words."

And with that Legolas left, vanishing in the darkness. Halbarad stared after him, confused. Should he feel better now, or had he only depressed Legolas more than he already was? In the end, he shrugged and returned to the fire. He felt better after the short conversation. He meant what he had said. The rangers had guarded Eriador for centuries, they knew every nook and cranny, had spies in most towns and outposts even at the remotest of places. Sooner or later that former messenger of Mirkwood would make a mistake, and then they would find him. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even in the next week. But, as surely as the sun would rise in the morn, they would find him. That night, Halbarad added his vow to Legolas'. He would search for Lithdal until he had found him. Even if that took a lifetime.

*****

While Aragorn flittered in and out of consciousness, Lithdal determinedly pushed on. He let the horses rest and graze when necessary, but he never paused for long. Not once the thought that his swift pace caused Aragorn excruciating pain crossed his mind. The only thing he could think of was to get away from the house, the rangers and that Princeling. The thought of Legolas elicited a smile to form on his face. He would have loved to see the Prince enter the room and see all the blood that he had smeared on the walls, the words he had written. Surely it had been a wonderful sight, a thing he would have cherished for the rest of his eternal life. But alas, he had not been there…

Once they were safe, he would ponder what he really wanted to do with Aragorn. Maybe he would just kill him after all and be done with it. With every day that they rode further South, the young human's condition seemed to get worse. Fever set in, and when he was awake, he was not really alert. He mumbled, sometimes under his breath, other times so loud that Lithdal had to clamp his hand over his mouth, so that his cries would not alert possible pursuers. Try as he might, Lithdal could not understand what he was babbling about, but he heard names, 'Elrond' and 'Legolas' the most often.

The longer they were on the flight, the more Lithdal began to doubt his decision to keep Aragorn alive, and even more so, to take him with him. The man reeked! For Lithdal's sensitive elven nose, the smell of blood and sweat was almost overwhelming. It was disgusting to have this man in his arms, with sweat rolling of his brow in waves and dried blood clinging to his clothing. More than once Lithdal had to seriously battle the urge to throw up. He was close to throwing Aragorn off the horse and let him die in the wilderness. But, as if the Valar were not ready for him to give his gift away, it rained. The downpour which lasted for hours washed the most of the sweat, blood and grime from Aragorn's body, and Lithdal send a prayer to the Valar in thanks. But what was maybe even better, was the fact that the rain effectively washed the last of the snow away and hid their tracks in sludge and mud. After that, the former messenger no longer doubted that Aragorn had been send to him by the Powers themselves.

Now, a week after the scuffle at the house, Aragorn seemed to finally get better. He had stopped his incomprehensible mumbling, and when he woke, he was alert enough to look around and shift in Lithdal's arms. He was still feverish, but Lithdal hoped that this would vanish, soon. That night, they stopped in a small grove of trees, close to the river Bruinen. Lithdal refused to light even the tiniest of fires, afraid that its glow might attract unwanted attention to their position. As he did every night, he lifted Aragorn from the horse and laid him down on the ground. Due to his wound and the blood loss, Aragorn was weak, and he could not walk on his own. The positive side effect was that Lithdal cared not to bind his arms or feet.

Grimacing in pain, his hand pressed tightly against the wound to his side, Aragorn stretched out on the cold ground. Lithdal had placed his cloak under him, but he still froze. It had been days since he had eaten properly, and his stomach hurt almost as much as his dry throat. He wearily closed his eyes and immediately felt the pull of sleep. Not even the knowledge that Lithdal stood but a few feet away was scary enough to keep him alert. During the last days, Aragorn had lost a lot of his former fear of Lithdal; he had just been in too much pain and heartache. If Legolas was truly dead, as Lithdal had said, then there was no reason why Aragorn should fear Lithdal any longer. The elf would do with him as he liked and then kill him. But oh, Aragorn would not go down without a fight. The time to be afraid of Lithdal was over. He would avenge Legolas' death. But, that his mind was no longer cringing away from the former messenger, did not mean that his body did the same. Every time Lithdal touched him, looked at him and talked to him, he would cringe away from the contact, a flutter of the former fear assaulting his stomach. It was bothersome, but could not be helped. His body knew, after all, that Lithdal was a threat, and it was torn between the options fight or flight, neither of which he could at the moment.

Aragorn was almost asleep when Lithdal's voice broke into his muddled thoughts, "Wake up, Estel." He underlined his words with a little kick to Aragorn's shoulder. Even the small movement made pain lance down his side. Flinching, Aragorn did as he was bid, and nearly recoiled. Lithdal stood looming above him, his face forbidding. What now?

Lithdal glanced down, then flung a wet cloth at him. "Wash."

What? Wash? Aragorn stared at Lithdal, perplexed. His fevered mind could not comprehend the order. Did Lithdal seriously expect him to wash now? He could barely lift his arms, let alone sit up! But that seemed to be what Lithdal meant. When Aragorn merely stared at him, uncomprehending, he tilted his chin towards the river, "Either you wash, now, or I will throw you into the Bruinen and let the chill waters do the work. It is your decision, I don't care." Lithdal's eyes were unrelenting.

With an inward sigh, Aragorn slowly took the wet cloth. It was a struggle, but after a while he managed to sit up, but this cost him. His world spun around him, the trees did a crazy dance that made him sick. It was many minutes later before the pain in his side ebbed away to a tolerable level. While Aragorn struggled to do as Lithdal had ordered, the elf moved a few paces away, then leaned against a tree. He folded his arms across his chest, and waited. Lithdal's icy blue eyes never left Aragorn's form.

It was as if the elf's eyes burned his skin, and Aragorn quickly averted his gaze. Wash…how was he supposed to complete that feat? His arms shook already from the strain of sitting up, and he felt sweat on his brow. But he had no doubt that Lithdal would do as he had said and throw him into the river. And that was an experience that Aragorn could live without. So, he slowly opened the strings at his shirt, then awkwardly shrugged out of the fabric. He had to try numerous times before he could lift it over his head, and he was panting from the exertion when the piece of clothing finally fell to the ground.

He washed his face, neck, torso, shoulders and arms as swiftly as he could, all the while shivering in the cold air. The bandage that wound around his side was caked with dried blood, and Aragorn did not touch it. The bleeding had stopped, and it was better to not irritate the wound unnecessarily. When he was done, he made to shrug back into his dirty shirt, but Lithdal shook his head, "I said wash." And his eyes moved downwards towards Aragorn's lower waist.

Slight panic assaulted Aragorn's stomach. Gulping, he glanced at his tight fitting trousers. The thought of undressing in front of Lithdal was discomfiting, to say the least. Trying to find a solution, he glanced back at the elf, "My trousers sit too tight. I will not be able to remove them." And it was true, he had to admit. With his hurting limbs and injured side, he would be really hard pressed the peel the tight fitting garment from his skin. Lithdal pondered his words for a moment, then shrugged, "Try."

Aragorn now sighed openly. The elf would not be dissuaded. Knowing that he had no other option, he tugged at the lacings, then slowly opened his breeches. He felt his cheeks burn, and he struggled not to look at Lithdal. He felt the elf's eyes on his body, peering holes into his body. It was a terrible feeling. Gritting his teeth, Aragorn pulled the trousers as far down as he could, then swiftly washed. It was over in minutes, but for Aragorn, it felt like hours. With a feeling of deep shame he pulled his trousers back into place and flung the cloth away. Shrugging into his shirt, he threw one quick glance at Lithdal. The elf was still watching him, a strange expression on his face. Like a predator who sat before his prey but was unable to kill it.

Fully clothed, Aragorn flopped down on his back, feeling utterly exhausted, cold, ashamed and humiliated. Nevertheless, he was asleep in mere moments.

When Aragorn fell asleep, Lithdal turned and headed into the forest. His feet speedily brought him far enough away so that he would not be heard by the man, should he awaken. He climbed a tree with the swiftness that only Wood-elves possessed. Groaning, he reached into his breeches and began to fondle himself. Oh, the sight of Aragorn, almost naked, washing himself…it had aroused Lithdal. Soon, the elf's suppressed wail of sweet release echoed from the trees. When he was done, Lithdal leaned against the tree for a while longer, his gaze vacant. Maybe he would not kill the young human….

He was just to climb down, when his keen eyes spotted a red glow in the distance. Looking closer, Lithdal saw that it was a fire, some miles away. So, their pursuers had come to the South, too. When Lithdal returned to their resting place, he readied the horses, woke Aragorn and headed into the night. He would not be caught. He would rather kill Aragorn and then die in a fight with those men, before he let himself be caught.

To be continued.


	8. The black Heart

Chapter 8: The black heart

They rode through the night, not once stopping for rest or to change the horses. When morning dawned, the horses were panting tiredly, white foam around their noses. The horse Lithdal and Aragorn rode slowed in its gait and it hung its head in exhaustion. Only then did Lithdal loose the reins. The other horse, Legolas' horse, trotted along behind them. They had covered many miles that night, and Aragorn felt every single one in his bones. Due to the quick pace of their travel, he had barely been able to sleep; the constant bouncing had aggravated his wound, and the fiery pain had kept him alert. He wondered about their hasty flight, but had not had the strength to pursue the thought for long.

But now, with the horse only walking, he felt the pain subside and his eyes close on their own accord. He must have fallen asleep, for the sun already neared its zenith when he opened his eyes again. Looking around, he saw that Lithdal had stopped the horses near a muddy road that bend to the left some yards ahead of them. The Bruinen rushed along somewhere to their right, hidden behind thick bushes and rocks. Aragorn blinked against the sunlight, then turned his head upwards. There was not a single cloud in the sky; it must have been the first real sunny day since the beginning of winter. The sun warmed his skin, and had it not been for Lithdal who held him tightly against his chest, or the knowledge that Legolas was probably dead, Aragorn could have enjoyed the sensation. But so, he felt his heart beat dully against his ribs in a rhythm of his loss and pain.

If Legolas was truly dead…then what was his – Aragorn's – life worth any longer? Without Legolas, the future looked dark and gloomy. Legolas was his sunshine, his strength, his own personal hope. If he was gone…Feeling the tears well up in his throat, Aragorn swallowed thickly and blinked his eyes. He would not cry in front of Lithdal.

Lithdal…at the thought of the elf, Aragorn's stomach clenched. That elf was evil incarnated. If Sauron should one day return, then surely he would welcome Lithdal with open arms, him being an elf or not. With an inward snort, Aragorn thought that Lithdal would have made a perfect orc. Brutal, unmerciful and twisted in his mind and heart. Maybe he should tell him one day…

Aragorn was ripped from his thoughts when Lithdal suddenly turned the horses off the path. Letting go of his hold on Aragorn, he nimbly slipped from the animal, then guided it towards the bushes that grew along the path. They were not truly hidden, but out of the sight from the road. Confused, Aragorn was to ask Lithdal about his actions, but the elf sensed his questions and quickly quieted him with a fierce look. The elf drew his bow, then looked up at him. His voice was barely a hiss, "Stay atop of that horse! If I see you set one foot on the ground I will kill you. If you try to flee, I will hunt you down and kill you." He waited for Aragorn's reaction, but when he merely stared back defiantly, Lithdal came closer, locking his icy blue eyes with Aragorn's grey orbs, "One sound from you, one movement, and that bumbling bargainer will defray for it."

Confused, Aragorn looked from Lithdal to the road. What bargainer? The road in front of them was empty. Listening intently, Aragorn thought to hear the screech of a donkey. And the rattling of wheels, too. So, that was why Lithdal had stopped! Someone was travelling northwards on the road, and Lithdal intended to raid him.

Angered, Aragorn's eyes snapped back to Lithdal's, "How low have you sunk, Lithdal, to attack an innocent traveler? Have you not done enough evil?"

A smile tugged at Lithdal's lips, "Look at you! All fire and fury. But don't worry, Estel, I don't intent to kill today." And with that, Lithdal left his side and made his way over to the bushes, crouching low so that he would not be spotted by the unknowing merchant.

Aragorn fumed and his hands gripped the reins with all his strength, which, admittedly, was not much. His wound hurt him fiercely, and he had to lean forwards to be able to bear the pain. Valar, he had barely enough strength to stay awake and on the horse; even if he wanted to flee, he would not get far. The horse would throw him off ere he had gone a few hundred yards. The fever still claimed his body, too, and he knew that without Lithdal's help, little as he may provide, he would not survive two days in the wild. But what the elf was intending to do now was forbidding. To attack and rob a traveler stood against everything that Aragorn stood for. The Dunedain stood not idly by when innocent where harmed! But, alas, what was he to do?

He had to watch helplessly as first an old donkey, then a wooden cart rounded the corner. On the bench of the cart sat a middle-aged man with brown hair and beard. From the looks of him, he hailed from the North. Lithdal let the man almost pass him by, before he stepped from the bushes and trailed his nocked arrow on the unsuspecting merchant. With a startled cry the man pulled at the reins, the donkey screeched, the wheels stuttered in the mud, and then the cart stood still. The man lifted his hands in surrender, awaiting Lithdal's orders.

"Get off the cart, slowly." Lithdal ordered in slightly accented Westron. "Then turn around and place your hands on the side of the cart. Now!" The man climbed slowly from the cart, and Aragorn saw that he trembled. He shuffled to the side of the cart, then rested his hands against the wood, just as Lithdal had ordered. Even from the distance, Aragorn could see the sweat on the man's brow.

When the man leaned against the cart, his breathing quick and his knees weak, Lithdal returned his bow to his back and unsheathed a dagger instead. He calmly walked towards the man, his feet absolutely silent on the muddy road. The man began to tremble harder, but Lithdal just walked by him towards the end of the wagon. He examined the goods the man had loaded.

"Oats, bread, mushrooms, water. Good." The former messenger nodded, then jumped lightly onto the cart to resume his examination, "Blankets, very good. Oh, wine! Now that is what I call good fortune." He lifted a wineskin into the air, letting the liquid slosh around. Throwing the wine back on the cart, he jumped back to the ground, light as a feather. By now, the merchant was sweating like a pig and trembling so strongly that he whole cart shook from side to side. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came. He looked like a fish out of water. Had the situation not been so dire, Aragorn would have found it amusing.

But his attention was quickly drawn towards Lithdal, who looked at the man like a hawk at mice. Slowly, the elf moved behind the man. And in front of Aragorn's shocked gaze, he lifted the dagger, ready to slit the man's throat.

Before he knew what he was doing, a scream of denial shot from Aragorn's lips, and he charged forwards. Forgotten was the wound to his side that roared in agony. The horse dashed towards the cart, and Lithdal, startled from Aragorn's reckless action, had to jump to the side. Aragorn barely had the horse in control, but he managed to stop it from barreling into the frightened merchant. In the confusion, the man saw his chance, and he turned on his heels and ran as fast as he could away from the scene. When Aragorn had calmed the horse, he was gone.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?" Lithdal raged. He grabbed Aragorn and threw him from the horse, shouting. "You FOOL! Had I not ordered you to STAY?" He kicked Aragorn's legs in fury, then turned and stared after the retreating man. Aragorn could not breathe; his side hurt as it had not done in days, and his vision was blurry. Valar, he hurt! But he had achieved his goal, the man had fled. Drawing a shaky breath into his lungs, he blinked to clear his vision. And saw that Lithdal made to follow the merchant to kill him after all.

Gathering his remaining strength, Aragorn weakly latched onto the elf's leg. Irritated, Lithdal shook his hand off, "You will pay for what you just did, Estel. I swear!" With that, Lithdal brought the hilt of his dagger down on Aragorn's temple, and he knew no more.

When he next woke, it was late in the afternoon; the sun hung low in the sky, painting the horizon orange and lilac. For a long moment, Aragorn did not know where he was. He was obviously lying on his back, but not in a bed. The world was moving around him. He tried to sit up, but his attempt was thwarted when such a fierce pain lanced through his side that he fell back, gasping. While he tried to fill his starving lungs with air, his eyes tightly clenched against the pain, there was a snort from somewhere behind him.

"I would not move if I were you, human. You managed to reopen your wound."

When the pain reduced to a manageable level, Aragorn turned his head and looked over his shoulder. He was obviously lying in the bed of the merchant's cart, and behind him on the bench sat Lithdal. Instead of the donkey, Legolas' horse pulled the cart. The elf was clothed in human clothing, his face veiled by a hood. The former messenger looked down at Aragorn with contempt in his eyes, then turned back to the road.

Lying back down, Aragorn sighed deeply. Lithdal had stolen the cart and the goods the man had carried with him, but obviously not the donkey. The animal would probably have slowed them down too much. The fury he felt at such a deed was overshadowed by his relief that the man at least would live. Well, for a while, that was. Without his cart and his goods, he would not be able to earn some coin. Maybe he would die after all, starving to death.

Closing his eyes in exhaustion, Aragorn looked back on the last few days. How long had it been since Lithdal had attacked him in the house? Four days? Five? A week? He had lost all feeling of time, but judging by the pain in his body, his wound had already begun to heal, for the pain was manageable most of the time. Well, maybe not right now, the wound stung and burned, and Aragorn did not doubt the elf's words that it had reopened due to his fall from the horse. To his dismay, his fever had also increased; he could feel his body shiver and shake.

But, he had to admit, his situation had turned for the better. Valar, it was such a good feeling to lie still instead of sitting on a horse! And he was blanketed with furs, his head resting on a sack of oats. It was a hundred times better than sleeping on the cold, hard ground, or resting against Lithdal's chest while riding. Suppressing the conflict of emotions his situation caused – anger about what Lithdal had done, fear for the poor bargainer, and relief that his situation had bettered – Aragorn tried to think of his imminent future.

He had no idea where Lithdal was headed, but he knew that the elf had planned to go _somewhere_. And once they reached their destination, Lithdal would do as he pleased and then kill him. Well, Aragorn thought gloomily, maybe his situation had not changed so much after all. But, he would not go down without a fight. He was no longer afraid of the former messenger. Lithdal would have to fight hard to kill him! And, he would avenge Legolas, no matter what. Aragorn began to think of a plan, a way to stop Lithdal.

Stop Lithdal…that would – in the end – mean to kill the elf. Aragorn felt his heart constrict; could he kill an elf? Elves were Eru's children, the Firstborn, never to suffer, never to die. Could he end an immortal life? Was he capable of ending that, which his father, brothers and friends had taught him to protect and cherish? Would killing an elf not be a sin against Eru Illuvatar and all the Valar? Doubt rose in Aragorn, and when he fell asleep, he had not found answers to his questions.

*****

Five days passed, then ten. Lithdal lead the cart ever southwards. Now that they had to use the road, the danger of detection was great, but the former messenger seemed to have a sixth sense, and they never even came close to being spotted. While Lithdal navigated the cart, Aragorn slept most of the time and recuperated. And when he did not sleep, his mind worked furiously on an escape plan. But alas, there were only few possibilities, and none would work as long as he was so troubled by his injury.

When ten days had passed since the incident on the road, the fever finally left Aragorn's body. Due to the food and the wine Lithdal gave him, his strength slowly returned. While he had not been able to stand on his own but a few days prior, Aragorn could now walk all the way around the cart without falling flat on his face. But he still felt weak, and bouts of dizziness assaulted him. But what was even more important was the fact that he hid his newfound strength from Lithdal as much as was possible. He faked to be asleep while he was wide awake, scheming. He told Lithdal that he felt dizzy when it was not true, and he pretended to be still feverish, although it was not so. But Lithdal was an elf who had had little contact with humans, and he knew little about the human body and its healing abilities. Aragorn hoped that he was able to outflank Lithdal and escape. He just had to wait for the right moment.

But that right moment just did not seem to come. With each day that passed, Lithdal became more wary. At night, when they stopped and rested, he watched Aragorn's every move. He never left the camp for more than a few minutes, and he always brought the horses to the other side of the camp from where Aragorn lay. It was obvious that he suspected Aragorn of doing something. The young man's act was starting to crumble, and Lithdal began to doubt his continued weakness. Aragorn knew that he had to act soon.

They travelled further to the South, leaving Hollin behind and entering Dunland, and the landscape around them changed. The groves of trees and thick bush thinned, then vanished, the mountains to their left changed from a steely grey to dark anthracite and the plains became greater. They left the Bruinen behind and travelled over open country, before they reached another river. Aragorn knew it to be the Greyflood, and his heart sank. They had come so far South already…how was help to find them? If they were even looking for him…

When more days passed without the sign of help, without even the slightest whisper that someone was looking for him, Aragorn began to think that maybe, maybe they thought he was dead, and had either not started a search, or had stopped in their endeavors. But whenever the thought tried to grab him and despair flooded his stomach, he shoved it away. He would _not_ give up hope.

It was with little surprise that he finally came to the conclusion that Rohan, the land of the Horse Lords was Lithdal's destination. Once they left Eriador behind, he was sure, they would never be found. The rangers' guard post at Tharbad was the most southerly area the Dunedain patrolled, and they never crossed into Rohan. Not once had a ranger of the North crossed the Isen. He knew that his men would not look for him there. And with that thought came the realization that he had to act before they reached that river. Once he had set one foot across the Isen, he would be on his own, without even the slightest chance of escape.

It was almost four weeks after they had left the house behind, when the sun sank fiery red behind the horizon, bathing the world in an eerie light. And in the not so far distance, the rays of the sun reflected on a blue band that stretched from East to West, glittering like molten diamonds: The Isen.

Upon the sight, Aragorn felt his knees go weak and his heart hammer in his chest. He would have to try and flee that night. It was now or never. His wound still hurt, but not as bad as it had been. It had started to heal, and while it still bothered him, he could move again without blackening out. With the healing of the wound, his strength had returned, but he still was weaker than he had been before the incident. But, if he could but reach the horses, Lithdal would never catch up with him. His mind set on his plan, Aragorn waited.

As usual, Lithdal helped him down from the wagon and onto his blanket. The elf then tended to the horses, before he guided them away. While he worked, Lithdal had a watchful eye on Aragorn, never letting him out of his sight. They ate a meager meal, shared the wine. Aragorn then stretched out on his blanket, closed his eyes and pretended to fall asleep. Night settled on the plains, and the world turned silent.

Midnight came and went, and still Aragorn waited for the one moment that would allow him to escape. In most nights, Lithdal vanished for almost half an hour, probably to climb one tree or another to look for pursuers. Since they had reached the open plains, the former messenger just vanished, and Aragorn had no idea what he was doing then. But he did not care. It was then, when Lithdal was gone, that Aragorn wanted to sneak to the horses. Another hour passed, and Aragorn began to fear that Lithdal would not leave at all, when the elf finally got to his feet and vanished in the high grass.

With bated breath, barely daring to open his eyes, Aragon waited. He heard no sound, saw no movement in the darkness. It was now or never! As silently as he could, he got to his feet and made his way over to the horses. The two animals greeted him with soft neighing, and Aragorn quickly patted their long necks to shush them. Fearing that the horses had been heard, he glanced over his shoulder, but the night was silent around him and he saw no movement.

As quickly as he could, Aragorn grabbed one of the saddles and heaved it onto the back of his horse. He would have preferred to forego this time taking task, but he knew that he was not yet strong enough to ride without the help of a saddle. He would just strap it on so that it would not slip off, and then fasten it properly once he was a few miles away from Lithdal. He tied the last belt and took the reins into his hands. He was just to put his foot into the stirrup, when a deadly cold voice spoke up from behind him.

"And where do you think you are going?"

Lithdal! The faint hope that had settled in Aragorn's heart died as a flame in a gale. Now it was all over; Lithdal had found him, his escape was thwarted, and the elf would make sure that he never got another chance to flee. Gulping down his fear, Aragorn slowly turned. Being beaten did not mean that he would give up without a fight. So, when his eyes met Lithdal's, his eyes shone of his determination. Seeing the resistance in his eyes, Lithdal came a step closer. Without forewarning, he slapped Aragorn hard across his face.

"Sneaking away, are we? Leaving in the dead of night! Did you really think I would not notice your feeble attempt to fake sleep? Did you really think me _that_ stupid?" Lithdal hit Aragorn another time, this time so hard that he young man stumbled. Tasting blood, Aragorn lifted his head defiantly, "And do you really think I would _not_ try to escape? Did you really think that I would just let you get away with what you did? That I would do _nothing_ to stop you and get away from you?"

For a moment, Lithdal was speechless, obviously shocked by Aragorn's defiance. Until now, Aragorn had been mostly silent, submissive and scared by his mere presence. To see the young man agitated and rebellious was a new concept to the former messenger. But he did not need long to recover. He grabbed Aragorn by the shoulder and yanked him away from the horse and towards the camp.

"I'm fed up with you, Estel." Lithdal hissed, his anger rising. "It is time for you to learn your place." His hand tightened painfully on Aragorn's arm, and he grimaced. But Lithdal was not yet done. With the speed and force of the Firstborn, he slammed Aragorn down onto the hard ground. He barely gave him time to get his bearings, before he straddled him. The elf's eyes gleamed dangerously. "I have long debated what to do with you Estel, but I think I have finally come to a decision." The elf trailed his finger down Aragorn's face, which made the young man shudder in revulsion. "I think," Lithdal now nearly whispered, his eyes ablaze with a mixture of longing and hate, "I think I'll show you how much you hurt me when you denied me."

With mounting horror, Aragorn realized what those words meant. After all the time, Lithdal would go through on his threat and violate him, just as he had tried more than a year ago. Aragorn began to tremble, as his old fears washed over him. He was transported back to Mirkwood, back into the room where Lithdal had tricked him, had tried to take him under the masquerade of him being Legolas. Panic began to well up.

He was ripped out of his memories when Lithdal forcefully tugged at the lacings of his breeches. The laces snatched under his fingers, and the elf began to pull the fabric down. This time, Aragorn realized, the elf would not tarry and just take what he wanted with pure force. But unlike the last time that Lithdal had attacked him thusly, Aragorn was not cowering with fear. So what if Lithdal succeeded in dominating him and took him? He would still live, see another day, another chance to flee. Would Legolas, if he still lived, love him less? No, he would _not_, he had proven that more than once. And would he be a lesser man? No, certainly not, for when Lithdal got what he wanted, it would only mean that the elf had won a fight, but not the war. If Aragorn got up from the blow, he would still be the man he used to be. The only important thing was that he got up again, that he continued to fight!

While these thoughts flashed through his mind, Aragorn's felt his anger boil. It washed through his body, supplied his arms and legs with strength. They began to tingle, to shake, ready to act. And when Lithdal grunted with the effort to pull Aragorn's breeches over his hips, Aragorn snapped. With an angry yell he let his balled fist slam into Lithdal's head. The elf's eyes widened, before he collapsed to the side. Fuelled by his anger, Aragorn hit him again, before he shoved the elf off of him. In a heartbeat he was on his feet, pulled his breeches into place, then dashed towards the horses.

He had gone but a few steps when Lithdal crashed into him from behind. The elf encircled his shoulders and arms and threw him to the ground. The air left his lungs in a painful whoosh, and Aragorn felt his wound protest. A long fingered hand sneaked into his hair, and then his head was slammed onto the hard earth. His head exploded with pain and Aragorn saw red dots appear in his vision. Lithdal knocked his head against the ground once more, screaming crazily, "How dare you! How DARE YOU ATTACK ME!" He let go of Aragorn's hair, hitting him in the back instead.

Aragorn's mind reeled and he knew that he was not far away from a concussion. His head pounded in the rhythm of his heartbeat and his blood rushed in his ears. But his need to flee was stronger than his body's discomfort. At least at the moment. Using a technique his brothers had taught him, Aragorn turned and threw Lithdal off. The elf landed on the ground with a dull thud. Instead of running towards the horses, Aragorn turned and threw himself onto the elf. His fist connected with Lithdal's chin, and Aragorn felt a sharp pain in his fingers. Ignoring the pain, he let his fists rain down on the elf, hitting him in his face and chest. Blood began to pour from a cut to the elf's eyes, but Aragorn ignored that, too. His mind was blank, his only focus on beating the elf, of silencing the threat he was to him.

Lithdal fought, but Aragorn's first punch had caught him unawares, and his attempt to throw Aragorn off failed. After a rather wicked punch to his neck, Lithdal lay still. In his anger driven haze, Aragorn did not stop in his attack. It was only when Lithdal's head rolled to the side, his mouth agape, that Aragorn stopped, his fist still raised in midair. Panting heavily, he stared down at the elf. Lithdal's face was bloodied, his lip swollen. He was either unconscious or dead. For a moment, Aragorn just sat there, too energized to do anything more than breathe. And then his mind began to work again, and he quickly scrambled away from his opponent.

Aragorn shook all over, the rush of the fight still strong in his body. Not once did his eyes leave Lithdal; he was almost afraid that the elf would jump up and attack him. When it was clear that Lithdal would do no such thing, Aragorn slowly crawled to where the elf lay; he had not the strength to get to his feet. The fight had exhausted him, and his wound hurt with a vengeance, while his head beat with the rhythm of his heart. Almost tentatively, he placed two fingers at Lithdal's neck. The elf moaned at the touch, and Aragorn jumped back, startled. Lithdal was still alive….

To his surprise, relief washed through him. He had not killed an elf, had not killed one of the Firstborn. Although Lithdal had become one of his worst enemies, had tried to rape him and kill him, although he had kidnapped him and probably killed Legolas…Aragorn was glad that he had not become a slayer of Eru's most prized creations. He had been brought up to cherish the life of the elves; a mere mortal had no right to take the eternal life of the Firstborn. If he killed an elf, his blood would forever stain his hands, no matter how bad the elf had been. And, Aragorn did not know if Legolas could forgive him if he killed one of his race.

But, what was he to do now? Aragorn knew he had not much time to ponder this, for Lithdal could wake up any moment. So, he decided that he would bind him and take him with him. If he left him here, Lithdal would most likely manage to escape and then reappear to haunt him. Bracing his aching wound with his hand, Aragorn got to his feet and made his way over to the horses. The animals eyed him warily, but did not shy away. He found some rope in the saddleback, strong enough to even hold and elf captive. He turned back to Lithdal…and dropped the rope in shock. Lithdal was gone!

The place where the elf had lain just moment before was empty, the former messenger gone. Heart hammering in his chest, Aragorn turned on his heels, eying the plains around him. Lithdal was nowhere to be seen. Now close to a real panic, Aragorn turned back to the horse to flee. But he never got that chance.

With an animalistic snarl, Lithdal hurled himself at him. A dagger was in his hand, the sparse moonlight reflecting on the blade. The elf's body collided with Aragorn's, and they crashed to the ground. The blade missed Aragorn's neck by an inch, burying itself deep into the ground. Lithdal plunged his knee into Aragorn's wounded side, and he could not keep a scream of agony inside. But that did not stop him, and he fought Lithdal with all his might. Furious, Lithdal reached for the dagger. Aragorn pulled at his arms, intercepting his reach, but Lithdal tried again and again to reach the weapon. They grappled, but finally Lithdal managed to wrap his fingers around the hilt of the dagger. With a triumphant yell he lifted the blade high above his head with both hands, ready to plunge it deep into Aragorn's heart.

In that moment, Aragorn saw everything with a clarity he had not had before. Lithdal's eyes were wide with his madness, craziness looming in their depths. His face was bloodied and flushed, and the elf had nothing ethereal about him. Even his inner elvish glow was absent. Then the dagger descended upon him, cutting through the still air, aiming for his wildly beating heart. Knowing that he would die when he did nothing, Aragorn took a fateful decision. His right hand shot forwards, towards Lithdal's belt. Without looking, Aragorn pulled another knife from the elf's belt, lifted his hand, and plunged the blade right through Lithdal's black heart.

Lithdal's arms stopped in midair, and his eyes widened in disbelief and pain. He glanced down at the hilt that protruded from his chest, then back at Aragorn. His head tilted to the side and his brows furrowed as if he wanted to ask something, but no words came. The dagger fell from his lifeless fingers, bouncing off from Aragorn's chest harmlessly. And then, very slowly, the elf slid to the side and fell to the ground. He took another shuddering breath, and then his heart stood still. Aragorn held his breath and waited another moment, unsure whether Lithdal had died or not. When the elf's eyes stared lifelessly into nothing and his chest no longer lifted for breath, Aragorn dared to breathe again. He crawled out from under the dead elf, got on his hands and knees and inched away.

There he stayed, unmoving, his gaze locked on Lithdal's dead eyes. No relief swamped him, no happiness that his foe had finally been brought down. Instead, emptiness settled in his stomach, and coldness slowly crept into his limbs. Over and over again his mind repeated one sentence, "I killed an elf."

When morning dawned, Aragorn climbed to his feet, cold and stiff and tired. He enwrapped Lithdal's body in blankets, then laid him down on the wagon. Harnessing his horse before the cart and securing Legolas' to the side of it, he finally left the camp. It had not been a difficult decision to take the body with him. Even if Lithdal had been an evil person, Aragorn could not just let his body lie in the middle of nowhere to rot. That was not right. And, deep down, Aragorn felt horridly guilty for having taken the life of an immortal. By taking him with him, even if only for a proper burial, Aragorn unconsciously tried to redeem some of the guilt he had laden on his shoulders.

With the first rays of the new day, Aragorn turned the cart North-West, towards Tharbad. He would never make the trip back to The Angle, and Tharbad was the closest outpost of the rangers. He would get help there and be able to send a message North.

And while his body ached from the fight and was weary from the weeks of constant tension, his mind could not forget the corpse that lay on the wagon behind him. A shadow passed over Aragorn's already frayed heart, darkening it.

It was a long, and lonesome way to Tharbad.

To be continued.


	9. Reunion

Chapter 9: Reunion

Legolas, his hair flying behind him in the cold wind, stared across the plains. His blue eyes were sharp and saw the lonesome figure long before his companions. Reaching for his trusted knives, he slowly approached. But as he neared, he saw that he would not need his weapons, for the man before them posed no threat.

They had ridden for days, ever southwards, ever vigilant. But they had found no convincing signs that Lithdal and Estel had indeed crossed their paths. An imprint here, horse hair tangled in bushes there, but no sign of the ones they so desperately sought to find. For all they knew, Lithdal and Estel had headed to the North and were long out of their reach. But still they pushed on, unwilling to accept defeat and return to the village. But, even so, Legolas could no longer ignore the voice of doubt in his mind. And with every day that passed, his hope to find his young friend diminished. Maybe Aragorn was long dead.

Legolas, his heart longing to know the truth, be it good or bad, fought the urge to turn his horse, to give up, to surrender. With every day that passed, that urge grew, and he knew not how long his shattered heart could go on. It were dark days. How long had it been since that fateful day when Aragorn had been snatched from him? Two weeks? Maybe closer to three weeks, Legolas mused, and his heart sank. Three weeks….how much havoc could Lithdal wreak in that time? His heart shuddered at the thought, showering his mind with horrid pictures. Whenever that happened, Legolas closed his eyes and concentrated on Aragorn's handsome face, his radiant smile, his compassionate eyes. And then the dark images would vanish … but not for long.

They had come far South, and so Legolas was surprised to meet a traveler on the road. And what kind of traveler! It was an older man, dark haired and bearded. He seemed to pull at the reins of a petulant mule, shouting and clamoring. When Legolas and his companions neared, he stopped his fruitless attempts to get the stubborn animal to move, and instead stared at them, wide eyed and clearly frightened. For a moment he looked as if he wanted to flee, but before he could make a decision, Legolas and the rangers were upon him.

"Well met, stranger." Legolas said, his eyes roaming the man and his mule. He saw neither weapons, nor blankets, satchels of food or water. When he took a good look at the man, he saw that he was clothed in dirty clothing, and his hands were shaking. What a strange traveler, indeed. After a moment of hesitation, the man answered, "Yes, well met." His eyes strayed to the group of rangers, and he seemed to tense. It was obvious that he was afraid of both Legolas and the rangers.

Trying to put the man at ease, Legolas dismounted his horse, patting it on the long neck and rubbing its nose. He gestured at the mule, his tone questioning, but jovial. "You have a fine animal there, man. But it seems it is a bit stubborn."

"Yes, it is." The man said, ducking his head as if he awaited a blow.

"You need not fear, good man." Legolas raised his hands, palms upward, "We mean no harm to you. We are just travelers, like you. We will not hurt you, and neither will we rob you of your possessions." Try as he might, Legolas could not produce a calming smile, but his face must have shown his honesty, for the man relaxed somewhat. He patted the mule unconsciously, which the animal seemed to like.

"Tell me, good sir, where are you headed?" Slowly, so as not to frighten the man, Legolas began to rummage in his saddlebags.

"Well, North, obviously." The man's eyes never left Legolas' slender form. "I'm headed to the Forsaken Inn. To sell goods." He stopped, then sighed, "I _was_ going there to sell goods. Now, I'm just going there." He seemed disappointed, saddened, and angry.

Producing a strip of dried meat and some stale bread from his bags, Legolas approached the man and placed the food in his hands. "Here, you look starved, eat." The man's eyes widened, and he stared at Legolas, dumbstruck. But before Legolas could revise his decision, the man hungrily horked down the food; It was gone in mere seconds. Belatedly, the man reminded his good manners, "Thank you, sir, thank you. I have gone without food for days now."

Frowning, Legolas bade the man to explain. "I was traveling northwards when I was set upon by two highwaymen." He explained, his eyes still haunted by the memory. "One of them wanted to cut my throat, I think, and the other was a madman! He came charging with his horse, trying to plow me over. Can you imagine that…" He shook his head, his mind far away. "But instead of hitting me, he hit his companion, and I just ran away, as fast as I could. I hid in the bushes for a whole day. When I returned, my cart was gone, my goods, my wealth. But they left me my mule." He patted the animals warmly, his former ire forgotten.

Legolas listened to the man without interrupting him, and his interest was piqued, although he could not say why. "Two highwaymen, you say? What did they look like?"

"Well," the man scrunched up his face while he tried to remember. "The one who tried to kill me with a knife was tall and slender, much like you." He gestured at Legolas before he continued, "He had a hood on, so I could not see his face, but I saw that he had long, silvery hair. Strange, now that I think about it. Maybe he was old…"

At the man's words, the rangers exchanged meaningful looks. Could it be that they had finally found a lead? Legolas' heart pounded in his chest, so hard that he meant it would break his ribs. "And the other man? What did he look like?"

"Oh, I did not see him well." The man shook his head. "He was dark haired and pale, that much I could see. And…something seemed to be wrong with him, as if he was, yes, as if he was ill. He sat on his horse so…strangely." He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head once more, "It doesn't matter, does it? I'm just glad I escaped with my life."

Thousand thoughts raced through Legolas' mind, one more important than the next. Lithdal and Aragorn, finally! They had found a lead, a hint of their whereabouts. And the man had said that Aragorn had charged with his horse, so that meant that Aragorn was still alive! He was alive! His heart rejoiced in pure happiness, but his mind told him to be cautious.

"Tell me, good man, when did you meet those criminals? And where?"

"A week ago, maybe a bit longer. It was just down this road." The man gestured behind him to the South. When Legolas whirled around and practically jumped on his horse, the man took a step back, distraught by Legolas' sudden movements. Before he knew what was happening, Legolas pressed his knees to the horse's sides and dashed away. Two of the rangers followed immediately, but Halgel, Halbarad's father, stayed for a moment longer. He threw a blanket and some more food at the surprised man, thanked him for his help, and then followed his companions.

Stunned, the man stared after the strange group, then at the food in his hands. First he was robbed, and then he was gifted with food and a blanket. These were strange times.

Legolas chased his horse down the road, unheeding of his surroundings or his companions. There was no doubt in his mind that the man had spoken of Lithdal and Aragorn. He had seen them but a week ago, and Aragorn had been alive! That meant that Lithdal had not killed him, had not hastily buried him somewhere or thrown his body into the river. Aragorn was alive. And he was fighting. Legolas believed not for a single moment that Aragorn had attacked the man; rather he had tried to save him. Whatever had happened, fact was that Aragorn had been alive a week ago, even if he was with Lithdal.

And so Legolas urged his horse even faster, flying to the South. There was no more need to look out for signs or traces of their passing. They had been here, had travelled these paths. And as there was nowhere to go but South – the East blocked by the mountains and the West by the river – Legolas knew that he had just to catch up with them. That day, and all the days that followed, the small group chased across Hollin, then Dunland, as if Sauron himself was on their heels.

*****

Aragorn's days turned dark. While it was light he travelled towards Tharbad, covering as much ground as he could. When the light failed and night settled in, he cowered close to the cart, huddled in his cloak and blankets, wishing that the night would be over soon. Sleep eluded him, but when he finally sank into dreams, he was woken from them after a short while, trembling and sweating. For when darkness fell, the voices came to haunt him.

At first, it was just a soft rustling in the grass, a whisper on the wind. But from night to night, the voices became stronger, louder, their words understandable. They cursed him, branding him. "_Murderer!"_ They whispered. "_Slayer of a Firstborn!_" They hissed. "_Traitor to your own blood._"

Aragorn shook the voices off, thinking it was just his weary mind that played tricks on him. But the voices did not vanish, and their words seeped into his heart. During the day, when he guided the wagon, half-asleep in his seat, he meant to hear rustling coming from the wagon behind him, but whenever he looked, nothing moved. Lithdal was dead, covered with blankets, barred from his sight. But Aragorn could not shake the feeling that he was being watched, that eyes rested on his back, and it took a lot of his concentration and self control to refrain from looking back over his shoulder.

Whenever he was close to sleep, when his eyelids drooped and his head became fuzzy, his mind revisited the last moments of Lithdal's life. Then, guilt claimed him. What had he done? Why had he killed an elf? How did he dare to do such a heinous act!

In pain, feeling guilty and utterly exhausted, Aragorn slowly began to retreat into himself. His eyes never left the road, his hands dutifully guided the horses and his senses stayed as much alert as he was able to be, but his mind steadily withdrew from the world around him. His thoughts circled around Lithdal's death, his last words, his dying eyes, his last breath. The world around Aragorn became but a stage design, his mind the center stage of the play. And his heart began to wither.

Haggard, pale and withdrawn, Aragorn finally guided the wagon around a corner of the road, and there, before his eyes, the river Greyflood meandered through the plains. Aragorn stopped the cart and gazed at the blue band for a moment, before his eyes travelled Northwards to the ruins of Tharbad. Just a few more hours, and he would cross the river and then it was but a stone throw towards the ranger outpost. Just as the thought flittered through his mind, an icy wind blew into his neck, making him shudder. The wind carried voices, hisses, snake like, "_Murderer. Traitor._" Bowing his head, Aragorn closed his eyes and tried forcefully to suppress the shudders that raced down his spine. It was impossible. A coldness had settled into his bones, chilling him from the inside.

When he guided the horse forwards again, he took his inner demons with him.

It was almost dark when he spotted the bridge that span across the river. In former times, when Tharbad had been founded in the fens and marshes of Minhiriath, it had housed the soldiers and engineers to maintain the famous bridge over the wild river. But alas, the Fell Winter, the plague and the high waters had destroyed the city, and all its inhabitants had fled. Tharbad, bereft of its former glory and knowledge, fell to ruins. And with Tharbad, the white bridge soon fell into disrepair. Now, the once crucial crossway to the North was nothing more than a tumble of rocks, spread across the river, where it created treacherous eddies.

Aragorn knew that crossing the river was suicide; only a fool would try it. But the rangers, in their urge to protect the North-South road, had found an easier point to cross, only a mile South of Tharbad, and that was where Aragorn headed. He had just turned his wagon to the South, when a dark clad figure stepped from the bushes alongside the road. The man was tall and he carried a crossbow in his hands, but he was not aiming it at Aragorn. There was a silver star at his shoulder, holding his cloak.

"This road is not safe, friend. You should turn around and try your luck to the North."

After days without speaking, Aragorn needed two attempts before he found his voice, and it sounded thin and scratchy when he answered, "The North is not safe, either, friend. Although it is safer than some lands in these dark times." And then he lifted his arm and pushed his hood away from his face.

The ranger's eyes widened and he involuntarily took a step forwards. It took a moment before he found his voice, "Lord Aragorn! You! Here! But, we are all looking for you!" Happily surprised, the ranger stepped up to the wagon and placed his hands on Aragorn's arm. "I'm glad to see you, Aragorn. We heard that you were taken captive, probably murdered. We feared the worst. My heart is relieved to see you alive and well!"

"_Murderer_" a voice whispered in Aragorn's ear, and he grimaced slightly. The ranger threw him a worried glance, then took note of his filthy clothing and haggard appearance. "You are weary, Aragorn, and obviously not as well as I previously thought. I will accompany you to the camp."

And before Aragorn could protest, the ranger jumped atop the wagon and sat down next to him on the small bench. Without a word, he took the reins out of Aragorn's hands, clicked his tongue, and set the cart into motion. It was only then that Aragorn realized that his hands were trembling slightly and that his whole body was as tense as a bowstring.

While they rode towards the crossing point, the ranger now and then shot curious looks at Aragorn, but he said no more. He also took a look at the bed of the wagon, furrowed his brow and shook his head minutely. It was obvious that he had made out the wrapped thing in the bed for what it was: a body. But he said nothing, respecting Aragorn's unspoken wish for silence.

They reached the crossing, and the ranger guided the wagon safely through the river. The wheels sloshed through the riverbed and then up the banks at the other side, before the cart trundled towards a small rocky area South of the ruins of Tharbad. After a few more minutes, two sentries stepped into the path; they were clad in the black and grey of the rangers, their hoods pulled into their faces and their hands at their swords. But when they recognized Aragorn and his companion, they threw each other curious looks, and let them pass without a word. They reached the small ranger outpost a half hour later.

The outpost was not large like the ones in the North or even the one at Sarn Ford. It housed 15 rangers, five on a permanent basis, the rest whenever their patrols let them here. As there were no woods in the area, the rangers had built their homes between the various smaller and bigger rocks that were left over from the time when Tharbad had been build so long ago. Overhangs and the occasional green banner that had been stretched between the rocks provided protection from prying eyes, and so far the rangers' outpost had stayed undetected. When the wagon rolled into the camp, surprised faces turned their way. When the rangers recognized Aragorn, their eyes lit up first with surprise, then genuine relief. Shouts rang out. "Lord Aragorn!" "How is that possible?" "Thank the Valar, you have returned to us!"

Only slowly, Aragorn noticed that the cart had stopped jostling and that they had arrived at the outpost. While they had been rumbling towards their destination, Aragorn's mind had slowly slipped away, leaving his face blank and his eyes dim. He had retreated to some point inside his mind where the voices were not as loud, their words not as sharp. While he stayed there, the darkness around him intensified, but it was not a dangerous darkness. It was almost peaceful, had it not been for the voices that haunted him even there. At least, while he stayed there, he did not have to pretend that he did not hear them call his name.

Now, Aragorn was ripped away from that place inside his mind. Other, louder voices called his name, hands touched his body. He blinked, then focused his eyes on the men around him. They looked up at him with worried eyes, frowns on their faces. Looking around, Aragorn saw that he had arrived at the ranger outpost. He had hoped that he would feel better once he had found help, but it was not to be. The weight on his heart did not lift, the burden on his shoulders weighed even more heavily. When he felt that his hands were still trembling, he pressed them against his legs and took a deep breath. Within moments, the part of his self that was susceptible to the world, that lived and breathed and felt pain, retreated behind his barriers. Aragorn closed his heart to the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

"Lord?" The ranger next to him said and placed his hand on his forearm. "Are you well?" Sincere worry stood in his eyes.

"Aye." Aragorn said, and he slowly stood and climbed from the wagon. When his feet touched the ground the world swam around him, and he had to steady himself against the cart until the dizziness passed. Still, he did not miss the worried glances the rangers threw each other. "I'm just tired, that is all. It has been a long…" Aragorn wanted to say journey, but that word just did not encompass the past weeks. So he lamely finished with "It has been a long….day."

"Then you should eat and rest, Aragorn." Another, older ranger said. Aragorn knew the man from his stay during the winter, but his tired mind could not come up with his name. The ranger stepped up to Aragorn and placed his hand on his shoulder. A little irritated, Aragorn mused why everybody seemed determined to touch him these days. But Aragorn, although he was indeed incredibly tired, knew that he would not be able to sleep as long as the voices still haunted him. He had long thought about the voices, and what he could do to quiet them. He had come to the conclusion that the only way to silence the voices was to finally get rid of Lithdal's body. Once the body was gone and laid to rest, surely the voices would vanish. So, he shook his head and resisted the older ranger's attempt to steer him away from the cart and towards one of the small houses.

"Later I will eat and rest. But before that I have to fulfill another task." Pushing away from the cart, Aragorn slowly moved towards the bed of the wagon. There he stopped, unsure how to continue. Should he bury Lithdal? It would take hours to excavate a grave due to the frozen earth, and he knew that he had not the strength to do so. Maybe he should build a raft and place Lithdal on it, before he send it down the river? Before he could further ponder the problem, the older ranger spoke up next to him.

"Was he a friend?"

Aragorn simply shook his head. "Nay." He had no words for what Lithdal had been for him. "But he must be laid to rest nevertheless."

The older ranger was intrigued, but he could see in Aragorn's face that the subject was painful and that he did not want to talk about it. Not yet. So, the older man nodded his head, "We will gather wood for a fire, if that will suffice?"

"That is a good idea." Aragorn said, his eyes glued on the blankets that hid Lithdal's body from view.

"Then come, Aragorn. You look as if you have been dragged to Mordor and back. You must eat and rest. And I will send for the healer to take a look at you." The older ranger gently took him by the elbow and steered him away from the wagon. This time, Aragorn did not resist and let himself be guided towards one of the houses. Behind him, the rangers threw each other worried glances. Never had they seen their young Chieftain this hurt, and this closed off. He almost seemed another person. When Aragorn vanished inside the building, they lifted the blankets and took a look at the body. Their eyes widened in shock when they saw that it was one of the Firstborn, and they quickly placed the blankets back. Of course they had all heard that Aragorn had been taken captive by one of the Firstborn, and upon seeing the body they had no doubt that this elf had been the kidnapper.

Without another word, they spread in search of firewood. And, they send rangers out to inform the search parties that Aragorn had been found, and that he was alive.

Meanwhile, Aragorn let himself be led inside one of the houses. Now that the task of laying Lithdal to peace had been taken out of his hands, his mind retreated once more, leaving the shell of the man he used to be. With worried faces, the rangers tried to do for him what they could. They called for the healer who then examined him, his brows furrowed at what he saw. While the wound to Aragorn's side had begun to heal, it was still very tender, for it had never been treated properly. The healer tried to be gentle, but his hands were rough and his treatment painful. Beside the wound, the healer also inspected the rest of his body, noting the numerous cuts, bruises and abrasions. When he was done, Aragorn washed and donned fresh clothing. Food was placed before him on a table, and he sat down, although he was not hungry.

He barely ate half of the soup and did not even touch the ale. The rangers around him said nothing, but they worried. When he pushed the bowl with food away from him, the older ranger who had guided him to the house, caught his attention. By now, Aragorn could remember that his name was Durward.

"Aragorn," he began, his eyes trained on Aragorn's grey orbs, "we have been looking for you for weeks now. Word reached us that you had been kidnapped by an elf who meant you ill. And now you return, barely alive if you don't mind me say so, with the body of an elf. The body, was that…" He trailed off, but Aragorn knew what he meant.

"Aye, it was he who took me captive." Aragorn rubbed his burning eyes in an attempt to chase the milky fog that danced before them away. Valar, he was tired, and he longed to be left alone, to think, to retreat back into his mind, where the whispers of the voices were not that loud. He was so tired that he did not even wonder why Durward knew that it had been an _elf_ who had taken him captive.

Durward waited for a few moments, but when Aragorn did not elaborate, he gestured at the bedroom behind him. "Why don't you lay down and get some rest, Aragorn? You look tired to the bone."

But Aragorn shook his head, "Not yet, after he is laid to rest."

"But, you must sleep, Aragorn. You can barely keep your eyes open. We will wake you when the pyre is ready." Durward insisted, and after a moment of hesitation, Aragorn nodded his head. He more stumbled than walked towards the bedroom, sank down on the bed, closed his eyes, and was asleep in seconds.

He had slept but an hour when he snapped his eyes open and shot up in bed. Cold sweat drenched his shirt and his breathing was labored. His heart hammered so hart against his ribs that it was almost painful. With a shaking hand, Aragorn wiped his eyes. The dream had been horrible; full of screaming voices, half-dead bodies that reached out for him with decaying fingers, their white bones shining through the papery skin. But what had been worst had been the eyes, accusing and dead. "_Murderer_", they whispered, "_Elf-slayer!_".

Aragorn knew that he would not be able to fall asleep again, and so he simply turned on his side and waited. The hours ticked by, the night in front of the small window of the room grew black, and the starts glimmered weakly from the sky. But Aragorn found no comfort in them. A few times, the door to the room was softly opened and light seeped over the threshold, but no one ever entered, and after a moment the door was closed gently. The rangers were concerned about him, knew that something was amiss with him, apart from his physical wound. But they would not ask him outright, and for that, Aragorn was very grateful.

It was already midmorning when the door to his room was opened another time. Aragorn had not slept, but he was dozing lightly when a voice was cleared. "Aragorn?" Blinking, Aragorn rolled around to face Durward, who stood in the doorway. "The pyre is ready, Aragorn."

"I'm coming. Just a moment." Durward nodded and closed the door behind him. Aragorn's back hurt when he sat up, and the world swam before his eyes for a moment when blood rushed to his head. Sighing, he slowly got to his feet and made his way over to the door. His wound pounded slightly, and he unconsciously pressed his palm against his side. He had nearly reached the door when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and an icy chill ran down his spine. Slowly, his breath coming in ragged gasps, Aragorn turned on his heel.

He had not been mistaken. There, in the corner of the room, stood Lithdal. His skin was white as snow, almost translucent. He did not move, but he was _moving_ somehow. As if a steady wind brushed against him. He just stared at Aragorn, his dead eyes boring into Aragorn's. And then, his lips moved. They were white and bloodless, but his voice carried effortlessly across the room. "_Murderer. Traitor. And now you are going to get rid of my body. Get rid of the evidence. Do you think you can get rid of me, too?_"

Shocked, Aragorn took a step backwards, his knees weak. "I did not…" he began to say, but Lithdal continued as if he had not spoken. "_You will never get rid of me, Estel. I will stay with you for the rest of your mortal life. I will follow you wherever you go. Whenever you think you are alone, I will be there to prove you wrong. I will haunt your every waking hour. I will visit your dreams. You will never be alone again. I will make you pay for what you have done._"

Trembling from head to foot, Aragorn shook his head, "I did not mean to kill you." His voice was but a whisper, and it shook so hard that his words were barely audible. But it did not matter. As soon as Aragorn had opened his mouth to speak, Lithdal vanished, leaving nothing behind but an empty corner.

"Aragorn, are you alright?" Durward's voice sounded from the other room, before he knocked on the door. "Aragorn?"

For a moment, Aragorn was too rattled to answer, but then he swallowed thickly and nodded his head. Only to realize a moment later that Durward could not see him through the closed door. He cleared his throat, "Just a moment." Even he could hear how shaky his voice sounded.

When he left the room a few minutes later, clothed in fresh clothing and his hair still wet from his quick wash, he had managed to compose himself. But apparently his outward charade did fool no one, for the rangers who saw him frowned and shot each other concerned looks. Had Aragorn bothered to look into a mirror before leaving the room, he would have seen what had the rangers so worried. His face was as pale as that of a ghost, there were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, and there was such a haunted look in his grey orbs, that some of the rangers harbored the sincere fear that he would collapse any moment. But he did not.

Withdrawn, but otherwise composed, Aragorn walked through the small ranger outpost, and then over the grassy plains towards the pyre the rangers had built. It was man-high, the wood stacked neatly around the base. The wood had been drenched with oil, so that it would burn quicker and hotter. When Aragorn neared, he saw that the men had already placed Lithdal atop the pyre. The body was still wrapped in the blankets, and Aragorn felt relieved that he did not have to see Lithdal's face. It was almost silent on the plains, the wind the only concrete sound Aragorn could hear.

Wordlessly, a ranger pressed a burning torch into his hand, then stepped back. Aragorn hesitated. The wind billowed his cloak, but he did not notice. His eyes were locked on the body, and his mind was whirling. So this was it. It would end now. Lithdal was dead, his body ready to be burned. When the sun sank behind the horizon, nothing would remain of Lithdal's existence.

"_Murderer._" Lithdal's voice sounded close to Aragorn's ear, and he shuddered. He bodily suppressed the urge to turn his head, to look if Lithdal stood behind him. He knew that it was not possible. Lithdal was dead! "_Just make yourself believe that, Estel. My revenge will be so much more satisfying._" Without a backwards glance, Aragorn stepped up towards the pyre and set the wood on fire. Around him, a handful of rangers followed his example. After a moment, the flames whooshed upwards, devouring the oil and wood greedily. Black smoke billowed into the air, followed by orange sparks. In minutes, Lithdal's body was hid behind the flames and smoke.

While the rangers turned and walked back to the outpost, Aragorn stayed. His eyes never left the pyre, and only when nothing but a black spot of burned grass remained, the ashes blown away by the wind, did he finally turn and walk away. It was almost midnight.

*****

Two days passed, then three. Aragorn did not speak much in all those days, but he tried to assure the rangers that he was well, that they should not worry about him. He ate and drank and tried to sleep, and after a while the constant vigilance of the rangers began to cease. They still kept an eye on him, knowing that something was amiss, but unable to name it. It was on the fourth day after his arrival at the outpost, when the scouts spotted a group or riders who neared the camp with urgent haste. When the riders reached the outpost, an inaudible sigh of relief washed through the camp. Finally, someone had come who would be able to help their chieftain.

"Where is he? Is he here?" Legolas shouted before he had even dismounted his horse. Jumping from his mare with a grace only the elves posses, he immediately scanned the small outpost for any sign of Aragorn. When he could not spot him, his piercing eyes locked on the ranger who stood before him. "Is he here? Speak!" When the surprised ranger did not find his voice quick enough, Legolas grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him, "By the Valar, speak man!"

"Lord Aragorn stays in Durward's house, Master elf." The ranger finally answered, only to be shaken again when Legolas demanded, "Which house it that?" The elf's blue eyes were shimmering with roiling emotions, and this time the ranger simply pointed towards the house instead of bothering to speak. As soon as he had lifted his arm, Legolas shot away, running with elven speed towards the house. Behind him, Halbarad and his father followed, albeit at a slower gait.

The ranger bearing the message that Aragorn had been found and had arrived at the ranger outpost near Tharbad had met them halfway on the road to Rohan. Upon hearing the good news, Legolas and his small group of rangers had immediately turned around and ridden as fast as they could to Tharbad. The news that Aragorn was alive and had managed to reach the outpost had an enormous impact on Legolas. His friend, his lover was alive! At first, Legolas would not believe the messenger, and the ranger had to deliver his message four times before Legolas finally dared to believe that his hopes had come true. After all these days of fear and worry, Legolas had almost given up hope. Literally. Had he been able to fly to Tharbad, he would have. Despite the messengers assurances that Aragorn was indeed alive and faring well, Legolas would only truly believe this after he had seen Aragorn with his own eyes.

That was the reason he was now flying through the outpost, his feet barely touching the ground. He reached the door of the house and without bothering to knock, he threw it open. "Estel?" His searching eyes took in the room in a second, and his eyes immediately focused on the tall, but lean person sitting on a stool in front of the burning hearth. "Estel!"

It took Legolas but a heartbeat to cross the room, lift Aragorn out of the chair and wrap his arms around him. "Oh Estel, I was so afraid that I would never see you again! I was so worried, so scared!" Legolas whispered in elvish, his voice accentuated with the occasional soft hiccup. But even despite his relief and happiness to see Aragorn again, he did not forget that they were not alone. By now, Halbarad, his father, the other rangers that had accompanied Legolas on the search, and Durward, stood in the doorway of the house, watching. While a huge grin split Halbarad's face, his father looked on with a more suppressed laugh and a glimmer of gratefulness on his lips.

Caught in Legolas' strong embrace, Aragorn tried to speak, but he had barely opened his mouth when Legolas suddenly pushed him away at arm's length. His piercing blue eyes roamed over his body from head to foot and back, "Are you alright? I did not just hurt you, did I?"

Finally able to breathe properly, Aragorn shook his head. A smile formed on his lips and he sighed in relief, "I'm fine. But…I thought you were dead, Legolas. He said he had killed you."

"And I thought you were dead, Estel!" Legolas exclaimed, shaking Aragorn slightly in his agitation. "I saw you being stabbed and the wound…all the blood." On their own accord, Legolas' eyes moved down to Aragorn's side, where the ugly wound had been. "How is it possible that you survived that injury?" Wonder was in his voice, and when he gazed at Aragorn's eyes, they swam with unshed tears.

Aragorn's smile dimmed a little, "Lithdal stopped the bleeding and treated the wound."

"What?" Legolas could not believe his ears, and he shook his head in confusion. "But why would he do that?"

Suddenly, a new voice spoke up from the doorway, "I think that is something we all like to know." Halbarad's father nodded his head towards the table. "I think it is time for some explanations."

Half an hour later, Aragorn, Legolas, Halbarad and his father, as well as Durward sat around the table, nursing some warmed wine. Legolas, sitting across from Aragorn, could not tear his eyes away from Aragorn's still pale face. His lover was truly alive! It had been true, the messenger had been right. It was hard for Legolas to suppress his desire to touch Aragorn, to kiss him and to tell him how much he loved him, and he hoped that this conversation would be over soon, so that he could sweep Aragorn into his arms and get somewhere where no prying eyes could see them. But on the other hand, he really wanted to hear how Aragorn had fared these last weeks. What had happened to him? How had Lithdal treated him? What had happened to the crazy elf?

And most of all, had Lithdal touched Aragorn? But Legolas knew that he would have to wait for the answer to that fear until he was alone with his friend.

In but a few words Halgel explained to Aragorn that they had found Legolas in the house, that they had freed him, and that they had been looking for him ever since. He circumvented the sight of the house, the blood that had been smeared on the walls and the gruesome message that Lithdal had written in Aragorn's own blood. But, listening intently, Aragorn could read much between the lines, and he suspected that there was more to the tale than Halgel was willing to tell. Then, it was his turn.

Wrapping his long fingers around his cup with warmed wine, he stared down at the tabletop, "I cannot remember much after being stabbed. It is all a haze and I only remember bits and pieces. And I don't even know if what I can remember is true or just my imagination." He took a sip from the wine, as much to warm himself as to work up the courage to continue. "I remember that Lithdal placed me on the table in the room under the house, and that he vanished for a while before he returned."

Legolas interjected, "That must have been when he went to get me and brought me down to the basement." Nodding, Aragorn continued, "After that I only remember the pain and the smell of blood, but nothing more. The next thing I remember is sitting on a horse and riding southwards." He shot an almost apologetic look at Legolas, who smiled at him briefly.

"What did Lithdal to stop the bleeding?" Legolas asked gently, truly intrigued, "The wound was as wide as a chasm and all the blood…." He shook his head as the horrid memory assailed him.

Aragorn shrugged, trying to be nonchalant about it, although he wasn't, "He cauterized the wound at the house and then bandaged it. When I came to on the horse, the wound had already stopped bleeding."

The listeners paled somewhat, and Halbarad gulped down his wine. Cauterizing a wound was extremely painful, and they could only imagine the kind of agony Aragorn had been in. Instinctively, Legolas reached across the table and placed his hand on Aragorn's forearm, "I could hear you scream, down in the cellar. I thought he was going to kill you, and at the same time he tried to save you."

"Ironic, isn't it?" Aragorn tried to smile at Legolas, but it was more like a grimace, "At first he tries to kill me, and minutes later he labors to save my life. He was truly crazy, I think." Aragorn shook his head and sighed deeply, taking a sip of his wine. "You know, he never told me why he saved me. He actually told me that he did not know _why_ he did it." Aragorn gazed at Legolas, and immediately his heart began to flutter.

The hand on his arm felt so good, and he could feel the warmth of Legolas' fingers even through his tunic. It felt like fire on his skin, and for the first time since the death of Lithdal did he truly begin to feel warm again. But just as he thought that, Legolas removed his hand. His disappointment at the action must have been visible in his eyes, for Legolas' smiled at him warmly, his eyes shining with barely suppressed love.

"What did happen then?" He asked, eager to hear the rest of the tale so that this would be over soon and he and Aragorn could spend some time alone.

"We rode southwards, day and night. Lithdal barely stopped for rest. I wasn't really conscious the first few days, and after that a fever set in, and my memories are blurred. After maybe two weeks, or three, I don't know, Lithdal stopped a merchant on the road. At first I thought he would only rob him, but then Lithdal tried to kill him. We struggled and when I regained consciousness, I was lying in the bed of the cart and we had already travelled miles." Aragorn took another sip of his wine, and Halbarad used this natural pause to explain that they had met the man Aragorn spoke of, and that it had been him who had guided them into the right direction.

"I'm glad he survived and you were able to help him. At least Lithdal let him his mule." The rest of the story was quickly told, and Aragorn only stopped when he came to the part where he had tried to flee. "I became aware then that Lithdal planned to head into Rohan. I knew that there would be no hope of help once were crossed the Isen. The rangers do not patrol those lands, and neither do the elves. So I decided that I would try to flee before we crossed the river. Through the food and wine from the merchant I had regained some of my strength, and I hoped that it would be enough to get away. The night before we would cross the Isen, Lithdal vanished from the camp. He did that sometimes, vanish, I mean, but I don't know why.

"Anyway, I made my way over to the horses, but Lithdal must have heard or seen me. He intercepted my path and we fought." Without gazing at his companions, Aragorn finished his tale, "I killed him during the fight. But I could not just let him lie there, so I wrapped him in the blankets, put him on the wagon and then left for the outpost."

"You took his body with you?" Legolas asked, shocked. "Why did you not just leave him behind?"

"I could not." Aragorn shook his head and tried to make Legolas understand. "Even after all he did to us, I could not just leave him there, fodder for the wolves and insects. He did not deserve that." His eyes were imploring Legolas to understand, and after a moment of hesitation, Legolas nodded his head minutely. "Where is his body now?"

"We burned it a few days ago." Aragorn replied hesitantly. What would Legolas think of him now? First killing an elf and then burning the body? But Legolas' eyes filled with satisfaction.

"So then Lithdal is now truly gone? Once and for all?" The Prince asked, his voice steely.

"Aye." Aragorn nodded his head, sighing. "He is gone."

They talked until darkness fell outside, and they only stopped when Halbarad began to snore loudly. Aragorn had told Legolas what he knew of Lithdal's flight from the ship and a bit more about the journey, while Legolas had listened intently and secretly studied his face and gestures. While Aragorn tried for normalcy, it was obvious that the last weeks had taken a toll on him, and he was not only physically tired, but something else was gnawing at him, too. Not for the first time that day Legolas wished that he had a private moment with Aragorn, but alas, it was not to be. It was decided that Aragorn would sleep in the bed, for he needed the rest and the comfort of a proper bed. Halgel and Halbarad would sleep on the ground, together with Legolas, who refused to leave the house. Durward and the other rangers who had accompanied Halgel and his son, left to find a place to sleep in one of the other houses. Aragorn protested this, arguing that he did not wish to cause any inconveniencies, and certainly not for Durward to leave his own house, but his protests were quickly put to rest.

And so it came that Legolas and Aragorn were separated again, if only by a wall and a door, but both hoped that the next day would grant them a few minutes alone.

It was late at night when Aragorn woke with a start. He knew immediately what had woken him and his eyes shot to the right, to the small window. His pulse raced and a cold shiver raced down his spine. Moonlight streamed through the shutters, and in their milky light, Aragorn saw an all too familiar shadow. Shocked, he rubbed his eyes to clear his sleep fogged vision. When he looked again, the spot in front of the window was empty. Nevertheless, Aragorn was unable to find anymore sleep that night.

*****

Neither the next day nor the day after that gave Aragorn and Legolas the opportunity to speak unobserved. The arrival of the search party gave the rangers of the outpost the rare chance to hear of their beloved, and so the small house of Durward was constantly filled with people. Furthermore, Aragorn and Legolas decided that they would wait for the twins, Elladan and Elrohir, to arrive in the camp, before they would set out to the North. They were sure that the messengers would find the twins and that they would immediately head to the outpost. If Aragorn and Legolas stayed, the twins would not make the trip for naught. But _when_ the twins would finally arrive, they had no idea.

In the end, Lord Elrond's sons arrived but a handful of days after Legolas, Halgel, Halbarad and their men. It was a cold, stormy day when the twins guided their horses across the river and into the small outpost. Like Legolas had done, they raced towards Durward's house, flung the door open and swept Aragorn up into their arms. There was much laughter and relived smiles that day, and again it was late at night when the lamps were finally doused and quiet fell over the small camp.

In the middle of the night, hours after midnight, Legolas silently rose from his blankets on the floor in the main room and tiptoed through the sleeping bodies towards the door. He opened it softly, and when he stepped outside, Elladan and Elrohir followed him. They closed the door without a sound behind them, and stepped into the darkness of the porch. There they stood in silence for a moment, enjoying the cold and humid air. It was Elrohir who spoke first.

"How is he?" Elrohir had always been the more empathetic of the twins, and he had sensed during the day that Aragorn was putting on a brave show, but that there was something wrong with him. Something that shimmered under the surface, invisible but there nonetheless.

Legolas sighed heavily and crossed his arms in front of him. "If only I knew." He gazed sadly at the twins, "From the moment I arrived we were constantly surrounded by the rangers. We have not been able to talk properly, let alone talk in private. The rangers mean well, of course, but this secrecy frustrates me. I, too, feel that there is more to the story than Estel has told us. I long to just ask him, but, with all the ears around, I fear that he would not talk to me openly."

Elrohir let this sink in for a moment, then placed a hand on Legolas's shoulder, "And how are you, mellon nin?"

Surprised, Legolas turned his head and gazed at the younger twin. There was compassion in Elrohir's eyes, and a deep sense of friendship; there was no reason to lie to his old friend, and so Legolas sighed deeply once more and let his head hang, "I wish I could just hold him close and tell him how much I missed him, how much I love him." Suddenly, Legolas felt two strong arms wrap around him, and he rested his head on Elrohir's shoulder. "I was so afraid, Elrohir. I thought he was dead." His voice broke, and he buried his face deeper into Elrohir's dark tresses.

"Estel always was strong, and his strength of body and heart has seen him through this newest evil. He is alive, Legolas, and he will be well again, you'll see. I know that you wish to be with him, talk to him as you are used to. But for now, that is not possible." Elrohir softly stroked Legolas's back in a soothing motion. "For now, take comfort from me, my friend, and from Elladan. You'll see, as soon as we leave this outpost, things will get better." Elrohir tightened his embrace one more time, then released his younger friend.

When Legolas drew away, he smiled sadly, "Thank you, Elrohir. You always find the right words to comfort me."

"That is because you are my friend, Legolas, and I know what hurts you." Smiling at the Prince, Elrohir patted him on the shoulder, then tilted his head to the side, "And I can sense that there is something bothering you that you wish to tell us." His eyes sparkled in the dark, and Legolas felt his heart lift in friendship. Looking into the faces of the twins, he knew that he was no longer alone with his worries, and the burden he had carried since arriving in the outpost a few days ago, lifted from his shoulders. The twins knew Aragorn as well as he, and they loved their young brother dearly. Legolas knew he could confide in them, and so he did.

"You know not everything yet, mellyn (friends), for Estel did not tell the whole story. I don't think that he left it out on purpose; after all that happened, I think he did not deem it important."

It was Elladan who queried softly, "But you think it is important?"

Legolas nodded, "I do." And he told the twins of the visions that Aragorn had had, and of the fact that it should have been him who died at the house, not Aragorn. While he talked, frowns appeared on the twins' faces, and their eyes became darker.

"That are important things you tell us, Legolas." Elladan said, gazing out into the darkness. "Long have we waited for the signs, but I had not thought that it would indeed happen so soon."

Legolas was confused, "Signs? What kind of signs are you speaking of?"

"It is a long story, Legolas, and one best told while sipping some good wine." Elrohir explained, his eyes serene, but friendly. "But as we have neither time tonight nor good wine, I will tell you what my brother means in a nutshell. You know that Estel is the last heir of Isildur, and that he therefore is the rightful heir to the throne of Gondor and Arnor."

Legolas nodded, now more confused than ever. What had Aragorn's heritage to do with the visions? But he said nothing, eager to hear the tale, and so Elrohir continued. His voice became soft now, almost too soft for Legolas to hear. "Around the time when Aragorn's father Arathorn married Aragorn's mother Gilraen, there were rumors. Whispers that the future would change soon, that something of great import would happen. The Lady of the Golden Wood send word to our father that the waters of her mirror were in motion. She told him that she had foreseen the birth of the one who would someday right the evil that has been done."

Legolas sucked in a breath. He had known that Aragorn was special, but he had not anticipated this! With bated breath he listened to Elrohir's words.

"Of course, father knew that the mirror did not always foretell the future, and that you cannot trust him. But, he trusted grandmother and so he kept his eyes open for signs. And then, one day, Arathorn brought his young wife to Imladris, and he told us that she was carrying his child under her heart. Of course, this news alone was not surprising. But then Estel was born, and on the day he was born, a shower of stars fell from the skies."

Elrohir smiled in reminiscence, and Elladan sighed softly, "You should have seen it, Legolas. It was as if the night was turned day. Magnificent."

"Indeed, it was." Elrohir smiled and continued his tale. "Then Arathorn died and Estel was brought to Imladris to live with us. When he was really young still, Estel had nightmares, really bad ones. The ones that keep you up all night and haut you even during the day. We thought that he would relive his father's death, and although that was so, he also spoke of other things. One morning, he told us that he had seen a great battle between monsters and elves. He said that he had seen a great beast, with a crown on its head and clothed in black metal, wielding a giant hammer and sword. We knew then that he had seen the battle of the Last Alliance. Estel had dreamt of Sauron himself although we had never mentioned him."

Unable to keep silent any longer, Legolas whispered, "But how is that possible?"

"We don't know." Elrohir shrugged his shoulders, "Not even father or grandmother can explain it. But when Estel became older, the nightmares stopped and by the age of five, they were gone. Ada remembered grandmother's words, and he began to suspect that Estel was the one we had been waiting for. The one who had the power to right the wrong that had been done to Arda."

"You mean," Legolas frowned, his heart suddenly heavy, "that Estel will one day fight against Mordor? That he will have to conquer the Dark Lord Sauron himself?"

"We know not, Legolas, but aye, I fear so." Elrohir replied, the smile gone from his face. "We have been waiting for years that Estel would show more signs that maybe he is the one. When the visions stopped, we thought that it had maybe been but dreams and that we had misinterpreted them. But now…" Elrohir trailed off, and Elladan finished for him. "Now we know that Estel has inherited the gift of foresight from his father. And that means that his nightmares as a child have been visions, too, not mere dreams."

Legolas was shocked, and he gazed at the twins in misery, "But, how is he supposed to fight Sauron, should he ever rise again? He is but a man!" Fear for his young friend and lover filled his eyes, and a cold hand gripped his heart and squeezed it.

"He will not be alone, Legolas, fear not." Elrohir placed a comforting hand on Legolas's arm. "If ever the time should come that the need arises to face the Dark Lord himself, Estel will not be alone. We will stand by his side and either join him in victory, or die with him." To second this, Elladan came to stand behind his brother, his face grim.

"So will I." Legolas vowed instinctively, and his plea was honest. "I would rather die than see Estel fall at the hands of Sauron."

"So it will be then." Elrohir said, and a small sad smile played around his lips. In that moment, the three elves felt united in their wish to protect their brother, friend and lover, and they knew that they had spoken the truth. Aragorn was something special, not just because he was maybe the one who would rid Arda of evil, but because he had a very special place in all their hearts.

They stood in the dark night for a few more minutes, before Legolas spoke again. "Does he know of all this?"

Elladan shook his head, "No, I don't think so. When ada told him of his true identity, he did not mention what has been foretold. He was of the opinion that it would burden Estel more than that it would help him."

Legolas silently thanked Lord Elrond for this, for he knew that indeed, this knowledge would burden Aragorn immensely. The fact that Aragorn was the Chieftain of the Dunedain and the last heir to the throne of Gondor was already weighing on his shoulders, and Legolas did not wish to burden him even more. Legolas let his thoughts dwell on this subject, when he was ripped from his thoughts by Elladan's soft question.

"Legolas….has he spoken with you about…about why Lithdal kidnapped him?" The older twin was almost hesitant, and he did not look Legolas' in the eye when he spoke.

"Aye, he has told me that he knew not why Lithdal took him captive. Lithdal never told him."

Elladan nodded and stared at the planks of the porch. It was very uncharacteristic for the older twin to be so hesitant, for the elf was rather spontaneous and had a quick temper. He never beat around the bush when he wanted to know something.

"Do you think that…that Lithdal…." Elladan stopped and swallowed thickly before he continued in almost a whisper, "that Lithdal has touched him?"

Elrohir tensed, but said nothing; his hands were balled to tight fists at his side. But Legolas had not the desired answer for the twins, "Alas, I know not. I have not been able to speak with him, and he has not told me. Neither has he hinted that something has happened between him and Lithdal."

Suddenly, Elladan locked his grey eyes with Legolas', "But you know him better than we do in this regard, Legolas. Can you not tell?" It was obvious that the thought that their little brother might have been violated by Lithdal haunted the twins. Their eyes shone with suppressed fear, and Legolas oh so wished that he could take away their worry. But he could not; if anything, he feared as much as they did.

"If only I could, Elladan, but I cannot." Legolas shook his head in misery, "Estel has been hiding something from me, that much I can tell, but I cannot tell you what it is. But, if it is of any comfort to you, he does not behave as he did last year after Lithdal tried to violate him. He is not as reclusive or tense when touched."

"So there is hope that Lithdal did not touch him." Elladan sighed, but his face showed his concern for his youngest brother.

"Aye, there is hope." Elrohir said, and although his smile was a poignant one, it lifted some of the worry that had their hearts in a tight grip. The three elves did not return to the house, but stayed on the porch until the roosters cried and the first weak light appeared at the horizon. One more day at the outpost to give the horses some time to rest, and then they would head home. And they all hoped that on their way northwards, the opportunity would arise to speak with Aragorn in private.

Two days later, the small group of rangers and three elves set out from Tharbad, heading northwards. While the three elves hoped for a chance to have their questions answered and their worries appeased, Aragorn hoped that leaving the outpost would mean leaving Lithdal behind…in his nightmares, the ghost of the dead elf had visited him every night, and slowly, Aragorn began to fear that he might not hallucinate due to exhaustion, but that Namo himself had turned Lithdal's fea away and that the elf was now truly haunting him.

Would Aragorn not even find rest, now that Lithdal was dead?

To be continued.

A/N: I just could not refrain from saying that only a fool would try to cross the wild river Greyflood at the old bridge. ;)

And furthermore, please note that Aragorn has not eaten or slept properly for days when arriving at Tharbad. After just a few days of sleep deprivation, the human mind creates visions and hallucinations. That is a proven fact. Nevertheless, this chapter is open for all kinds of interpretations. :)


	10. At home again

Chapter 10: At home again

The next days were agony for Legolas and the twins. They made good progress and soon left Tharbad behind them, but during the first three days no opportunity arose to speak with Aragorn in private. While they rode, the group kept close together to protect each other from the harsh wind and the occasional rain shower, and when they made camp, there was always someone around. Halbarad seemed to be glued to Aragorn's side, so happy was he to have his cousin and friend back. And when it was not Halbarad, it was Halgel who wanted a word with Aragorn. It was frustrating for the elves, but they did their best not to let it show.

Of the three companions, Legolas was the one who suffered the most. Being so near to Aragorn and at the same time unimaginable far away was torturing him. He longed to speak with him in private, to hold him in his arms, to feel him near. Oh, how he missed him! Furthermore, the questions that Legolas wanted to ask and which's answers he dreaded, ate him up from the inside. They burned on his tongue, and Legolas knew that he would sooner or later explode if he could not ask them soon.

To his great relief, that opportunity arose on the fourth day of their journey. It was already late afternoon when they stopped to make camp. While the rangers began to built a small fire, Halgel and Halbarad cared for the horses; one of them had trodden on a sharp stone, and the hoof had to be treated so that he animal would not begin to founder. Seeing that the rangers were distracted, Legolas quickly grabbed Aragorn by the elbow and guided him away from the small group, calling over his shoulder at the twins, "We will search for firewood. We'll be back soon." Elladan and Elrohir exchanged a quick look, relief and worry in equal parts visible in their grey orbs.

Legolas led Aragorn away from the small camp, and when they left the group behind, they were slowly swallowed by dusk. After a few minutes, the group of rangers and two elves was barely visible in the swiftly falling darkness. Aragorn, unaware of Legolas' intentions, had his arms already halfway filled with dead branches and the occasional dry bush; When he was suddenly grabbed and engulfed by strong arms, the wood clattered to the ground. But, it took Aragorn only a moment to return Legolas' hug with equal passion. He buried his face in Legolas' golden tresses and breathed in the oh so familiar scent of his friend and lover. It was many minutes later that they broke apart, their eyes shining with renewed friendship and tender love.

"I missed you so much, Legolas." Aragorn whispered, tracing his finger down Legolas' cheek and jaw. "I thought that I would never see you again, that fate had us parted forever. It was a doom I could barely bear. Only the hope that Lithdal had lied and you still lived saw me through those weeks." A single tear rolled down his cheek, and he bit his lip to stop more from following. The weeks he had spent in the company of Lithdal, the days of pain and insecurity, of humility and fear suddenly overwhelmed him. The walls he had erected around his heart broke, and fresh tears fell freely down his cheeks.

"Oh Estel!" Legolas cried and drew the young man against himself. Stroking his back, he placed his chin on Aragorn's head. "When I saw you being stabbed, I felt my heart break in my chest. It was so horrible! And then I thought that you were dead and I nearly lost hope to ever find you. But now, now you are back and everything will be as it once was. You'll see, meleth (love), the darkness has no power over us. Even the darkest night will be lighted by morn and you and I, we will overcome even the most bleak of fates. We are stronger than that, Estel. You have been returned to me, and I will be forever grateful." He drew away and gazed into Aragorn's eyes. "I love you, Estel, with all my heart. And if the Valar would ask it of me, I would climb into the fires of Mount Doom, dive to the ground of the Sea and even kneel before the Valar if only I could spend another day in your company."

Surprised and moved by Legolas' fervent speech, Aragorn whispered, "Do you mean that?"

"Aye, I do, Estel." Smiling, Legolas leaned forwards, cupped Aragorn's face with his hands and kissed him. When their lips met, passion raced through their bodies, fuelled by their long separation and the overwhelming emotions of love and devotion. Soon, arms wrapped around chests, fingers tangled in golden and dark tresses, and the soft sounds of salacious kissing filled the air. It was not long before they sank to the ground, the world around them forgotten.

They lay on the grass, their bodies intimately entwined, and their lips companions of passion. Neither Legolas nor Aragorn was inclined to end their reunion, but they both knew that they could go no further than kissing and touching. The camp was too close, the night too still. And furthermore, their absence would soon be marked. So, they joined their lips in tender union once more, before they regretfully broke apart.

Sighing in delight, Aragorn snuggled close to Legolas, placed his head on the elf's shoulder and entwined their fingers. Being close to Legolas was pure bliss, and he felt once more the harmony he only experienced when he was with his Prince. After all these weeks, he finally felt complete once more. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift away, unwilling to just yet return to reality.

Beside him, Legolas enjoyed the feel of Aragorn at his side, and filled his nostrils with his lover's familiar scent. His lips still tingled from their shared kisses, and his pounding member clearly told him that he wished for more. He knew they must wait until they were alone, but oh, with Aragorn at his side, it was so difficult to behave!

Smiling at the memory of his young lover's passionate kisses of just moments prior, Legolas gazed down at the young man. Aragorn had his eyes closed, and there was a happy smile on his lips. A gust of wind moved through his dark tresses, and a beam of moonlight streamed down and bathed his face in silvery light. The sight nearly took Legolas' breath away; in all his years on Arda had he never seen such a perfect creature, a being so full of love and passion and honor. His heart swelled at the sight, and instinctively, he pressed Aragorn tighter against his chest. Not for the first time he wondered what he had done to deserve a friend and lover as Aragorn. Truly, he was blessed.

When more minutes had passed than was entirely appropriate for them to be away from the group, Legolas gently shook Aragorn's shoulder. "We should return, meleth (love), ere they send someone to come looking for us."

Sighing, Aragorn sat up and brushed dry leaves and blades of grass off his cloak and tunic. "I wish we were home already, and this secrecy would end. It is frustrating to be someone else all the time."

At Aragorn's words, Legolas was reminded of the questions that had been burning on the tip of his tongue for days now. Secrecy….what secret was Aragorn hiding from him? While their intimacy of this night had mostly alleviated his fears that Lithdal might have touched him, Legolas was still worried, and he knew that he would only find peace when he had heard from Aragorn that nothing had befallen him. Deciding that now was as good a time as any, Legolas touched Aragorn's hand to get his attention.

Piercing blue eyes met stormy grey in the light of the moon, and before he could change his mind, Legolas practically blurted out his question, "Estel, please tell me to ease my heart. Did Lithdal touch you?"

Aragorn was taken aback by the question, and his eyes narrowed for a second. But then he saw the sincere pain in the Prince's eyes, the heartache should his answer be yes, and the compassion for his plight. So, he gripped Legolas' hands tightly with his own, looked deep into his eyes, and shook his head, "The day I attempted to escape he tried to take me, but he did not succeed. He paid with his life for his attempt." A shadow fell across Aragorn's eyes, and he looked to the ground briefly, before he got to his feet, reaching a hand down to help Legolas up. "Rest assured in the knowledge that you are the only one whom I yielded to, willingly or unwillingly."

For the first time since days, a true, relieved smile played across Legolas' face. Their lips met in another fierce kiss, before they quickly scrambled around the plains for firewood. The moon stood already high in the sky when they repentantly returned to the small camp the rangers had made.

*****

At the next opportunity, Legolas informed Elladan and Elrohir of Aragorn's words that Lithdal had not violated him, and from that day on, the mood around the twins changed from tense to almost enlivened. They took up their usual banter, goaded each other into exhilarating tales of their childhood, and regaled the rangers with their pranks.

When they finally reached the village, the lore of Aragorn's escape had already reached the North, and all other search parties had in the meantime returned to the village. The night of their arrival, the Dunedain arranged a great feast in the town hall of the village. Almost all inhabitants attended, and there was much song and dance, good food and even more wine and ale. Aragorn was asked to tell the tale of his journey numerous times, until Legolas practically speared everyone who dared to ask with his gaze. It was not long before the rangers simply clapped Aragorn on the shoulder as a sign of their gratefulness of his return.

It was already long past midnight when Legolas, Aragorn and the twins closed the door to Aragorn's house behind them. They had lit a tiny fire before leaving for the feast, and the small house was still cozily warm. Yawning, Aragorn stumbled for the bench at the table; he had drunk too much ale, but the happy atmosphere and the good food had put him into high-spirits. Only now, after the feast, his body felt tired and exhausted, and he knew that he would be asleep in mere minutes. Still, he was surprised when Legolas wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him away from the bench and towards the bedroom.

"To bed with you Estel!" He laughed, carefree and happy. "If you sit down on the bench you will fall asleep with your head on the table!"

"I'm not tired." Aragorn replied, but his eyelids were already drooping and he had to hide a huge yawn behind his hand. When his brothers shot him pointed but amused looks, he conceded, "Alright, maybe I'm a bit tired."

"Go to bed, little brother." Elladan teased, waving him out of the room. "I'm sure Legolas will tuck you in properly."

"Aye, and if you are a good little boy he will read you a story." Elrohir quipped, a broad grin on his cheeks. Sensing a little good humored banter in the air, Elladan winked at Aragorn and Legolas. "And when you are a very good little boy, Legolas might even play with you before bed."

Snickering, Elrohir nodded eagerly, "You could play horse and rider!"

"Elrohir!" Aragorn groaned, blushing to the very tips of his hairs. But before his elven brothers could say another word, Legolas jockeyed them into the bedroom and closed the door behind them with an audible thud. For a moment, silence reigned, and then the melodious laugher of the twins echoed from the walls.

"Peredhil!" Legolas huffed, but he smiled and Aragorn knew that he was not serious. Legolas had been friends with the twins for centuries, and he loved them and their wicked tongues dearly. Although, he too had blushed slightly at their words. While the twins had accepted their relationship from the start, neither Aragorn nor Legolas had shown their bond when not in private, and that even included the Last Homely House. The fact that the twins now joked so openly did them both good, for it meant that their relationship had truly been accepted.

Legolas and Aragorn quickly washed and stepped into their nightclothes, before they climbed into bed. Both were too tired to even think about any bed play, and so Aragorn simply rested his head on Legolas' shoulder as was his wont, with his arm draped across the elf's chest. They shared a sweet kiss, then soon fell asleep.

At first, Aragorn was not sure what had woken him, but a second later his mind was shaken wide awake by a warm tongue that lapped down the side of his neck. Hissing at the sensation, he tilted his head to give the tongue more access. The tongue travelled down to the place where his jaw met his ear, only to be replaced by teasing lips. Moaning softly, Aragorn shifted his body, and he was not surprised when strong arms took him by the shoulders and rolled him so that he lay on his back.

Opening his eyes, he gazed into the lust filled orbs of the Prince. A sweet, tender smile played around Legolas' lips, before they sank down to meet Aragorn's in a passionate encounter. His tongue asked for entrance which was readily given, and he invaded the warm cave with salacious movements. Their bodies molded together, legs tangled and fingers groped, touched and caressed. Soon, Aragorn writhed under Legolas with undamped desire, and Legolas groaned from the effort to slow down; He wanted Aragorn to enjoy their reunion as much as he would.

Shifting downwards, he kissed and nipped his way along Aragorn's chest, making Aragorn shift wantonly on the bed. With long, slender fingers, Legolas massaged Aragorn's thighs, before he kneeled between his legs. Willingly, Aragorn spread his legs to give him more access, and when Legolas leaned down and engulfed his shaft within his mouth, Aragorn cried out in pleasure. His pounding member was thoroughly licked and squeezed, and he could not help but buck up into the demanding mouth. Legolas quickly brought him to completion, and when he found his release, Legolas' name spilled hoarsely from his lips.

After pleasuring his young lover, Legolas felt his own desire mount to incomparable heights. The sight of Aragorn finding his release, the healthily flushed cheeks, the thin sheen of sweat on his body, it was enough to drive Legolas crazy with want. Spreading Aragorn's pliant legs even further, he settled between his legs and skillfully let his fingers dive into Aragorn's passage. A deep moan filled the air, and Aragorn writhed on the sheets. It was but moments before Legolas guided his erect shaft to his entrance.

As was their wont, the pair shared a passion filled gaze, before they rubbed their noses together in their own signal that they were both ready to be joined in body. Legolas entered Aragorn's flesh with but one deep thrust. Their hips immediately found their rhythm, and they joined each other in the rapidly mounting pleasure of their coupling. What began as a tender loving, soon turned into a heated coupling, in which Legolas lost all restraint, while Aragorn gave himself fully over to his lover. Aragorn found his release first, spilling his essence between their joined bodies, and Legolas followed him over the edge but a moment later, crying out Aragorn's name just as the other had done before.

After their joining they lay in blissful afterglow for many minutes, each of them trying to find his breath and the strength to move. Their coupling had been pure pleasure, the sensations intensified by their long separation. It was almost half an hour later when Legolas hushed to the water basin that stood on a table, came back with a wet cloth and quickly cleaned them up. Then he lay down beside Aragorn and drew the young man into his embrace. It was still dark outside, although the first grey glimmer of morning sparkled at the distant horizon.

Aragorn was lost in thought, and he absently brushed his thump in steady strokes across Legolas' forearm. For some endless minutes Legolas' watched his young lover's distracted play, musing about their relationship. What had begun as a fickle crush on his side had over the years turned into a deep seated desire for the young human and then become true, never ending love. But oh, Legolas had never hoped that Aragorn would return his feelings! But then fate had intervened, and Aragorn had opened to his love, and with gentle steps and loving tenderness, Legolas had managed to enter the man's heart. During the two years of their relationship, they had overcome more sorrows and had been hurt more than he had ever imagined was possible. But Aragorn had never turned from him, on the contrary, even after all the mistakes Legolas had made, he had stuck with him. Before Aragorn, Legolas had not known how wonderful life could be. Legolas knew that Aragorn loved him, and that he held a deep-seated affection for him.

And still ... Looking down on Aragorn's dark locks, Legolas frowned. Although Aragorn loved him and trusted him with his very life, he kept a secret from him. Maybe their love was not as strong as he had thought. Or perhaps the secret Aragorn was keeping was something that he did not wish to bother Legolas' with. The frown on his handsome face deepened, and Legolas bit his bottom lip. Coming to a decision, he placed a kiss on the dark locks.

"Estel?"

"Mh?"

"Do you love me?"

Legolas felt the young human tense in his arms and a second later, wide grey eyes looked up at him, "Of course I do, Legolas. I thought you knew that." There was a little hurt in the grey depth, but it was overshadowed by anxiousness.

"And do you remember what we swore each other after the horrible things that happened in Mirkwood?"

Now truly confused, Aragorn sat up and drew slightly away from the elf, so that he could face him. "Of course I do, how could I ever forget when it was I who asked for this pledge? We swore that we would tell each other the truth, always, and keep nothing of import from the other."

Legolas nodded and locked his blue eyes with Aragorn's. Very gently, so as not to hurt his young lover, Legolas queried, "You say you love me and that you trust me. But then why do you lie to me and tell me that you are alright, when I can see that something is bothering you? Why do you keep secrets from me, Estel?"

Aragorn's eyes widened in surprise, but barely a second later his shutters came down and he hid his emotions behind his barriers. Indignant, he shook his head and turned away from Legolas, "I'm not keeping a secret, Legolas. You should know me better than that." Reaching out, he picked up his nightshirt and pulled it over his head.

"I should, but I obviously don't, for you just lied again at me." Sadly, Legolas shook his head and sighed. "Do you hold me in so little regard that you would think that I would exploit your weaknesses, Estel? That I would mock you for whatever it is you do not wish to tell me? You should know _me_ better than that." He flung Aragorn's own words back at him, but without scorn or rancor.

While Legolas watched, Aragorn's shoulders sagged and he bowed his head. A deep sigh floated through the still room. "I'm sorry, Legolas, I did not mean to be cross with you. It's just that…I don't know." He turned pleading eyes at Legolas, hoping that his lover would understand.

"Come here." Legolas reached out and drew Aragorn back into his embrace. "You trust me, don't you?" Aragorn nodded, resting his head on Legolas's shoulder, his face turned away from the elf. "Then why don't you confide in me, Estel? You know that I will listen." Gently, Legolas trailed his slender fingers through the young man's dark locks in a supportive and at the same time loving gesture. After a moment, Aragorn took a deep breath. Resting in the Prince's arms, he felt loved and wanted as he had never been loved before, and the feeling of belonging was so strong that tears stung his eyes. Blinking them away, he began to tell Legolas of what was troubling him.

"Do you remember the day in Mirkwood when we discussed Lithdal's possible sentence with your father?" Legolas nodded, "I remember as if it was but yesterday that we talked about it." And it was true; the elven memory is far superior to that of humans, and as soon as Legolas concentrated on that day, he could clearly remember it.

"When we spoke about Lithdal's future, do you remember what I told you? What I thought about the possible options and why I thought them inappropriate?" Aragorn's voice was soft now, and he idly twisted the sheets between his fingers, his mind far away.

Frowning, Legolas thought back on that day, "We faced the choices of Lithdal either being exiled or sailing to the Undying Lands. You said that you did not want him to sail because that would mean that I would have to face him one day. And that would mean that Aman would not be a place of peace for me, but just another nightmare." Legolas had to swallow at the memory, still moved by Aragorn's concern for him and the young man's devotion to make Legolas' life happy and peaceful even after his own death. "The option of Lithdal being exiled did not appeal to you, either." Legolas' frown deepened. "You said you would have to face him again one day and that it would come to a fight in which you would have to kill Lithdal to safe your own life." Legolas' voice became a whisper as realization set in. "You said that you could never kill an elf, because that is against the will of Eru."

Suddenly, Legolas understood what bothered Aragorn, what had caused his troubled sleep. In the end, Aragorn had had no other option than to kill Lithdal, to end the life of a Firstborn. For one who had been brought up with the knowledge that life was sacred and that especially the life of the Firstborn was a gift that had to be treasured, killing an elf must have been a horrible experience. While Legolas mourned every death of an elf, the demise of Lithdal did not bother him; the elf had been evil incarnated. Instinctively, Legolas drew Aragorn closer against him.

Twisting the sheets in his fingers, Aragorn continued, "Yes, that were my words, and now look what happened. I killed him. I ended an eternal life, Legolas." Aragorn shook his head in misery, "I ended that which was not meant to ever end! What right did I – a mere human – have to lay hands on an elf? What was I thinking? If I could just go back or turn back time, I would…"

Legolas cut him off, "I hope you would do just the same."

This brought Aragorn up short, and he turned his head to look at Legolas, "But…"

"No but, Estel." Earnest blue eyes locked with stormy grey. "You did the only thing you could do, Estel, and you furthermore acted in self-defense. Yes, you killed an elf, but that same elf tried to kill you."

Unwilling to believe Legolas' words, Aragorn argued, "But Lithdal was an elf, Legolas, he was not meant to die. Not at the hands of an adan (human)."

"Nonsense! What right do you think did he have to kill _you_? You are not less than he was, Estel, if anything, you are worth more than he could ever have been, elf or no." Legolas saw that something flickered in Aragorn's gaze, and he quickly moved on. "It is true that elves are not meant to die, but we can die. That in itself means that even the Valar wished for a possibility to kill us." Aragorn opened his mouth to dispute, but Legolas swiftly placed his fingers over his mouth to silence him. "You said that you did not wish to kill Lithdal because he was an elf, and that I can understand. But Estel, the worth of a person is not defined by their race. It is what a person does that characterizes it, only their intentions and their actions make a person who it is. The worth of a person lies not in its race. An elf, a human even a hobbit can be good or evil. We would do right in only judge a person by their actions and not their appearance.

Lithdal was an elf, but he was evil to the core. He might have been born an elf and brought up as an elf, but he decided to cast off everything that defines elves; the pure heart, the good intentions, that we care for others and not only ourselves, our readiness to help others and so much more. By doing so, he turned into something that was so evil and so bad that I would have thought him to be an orc, had he not looked like an elf. Lithdal got what he deserved, and he brought his own doom down upon himself."

Legolas took Aragorn's hands in his own, "You, Estel, are much more of an elf, in heart, spirit and mind, than Lithdal could ever have been."

A single tear rolled freely down Aragorn's cheek and he bowed his head, "Legolas, I…" He shook his head and locked his eyes with the elf's, "Thank you."

Impulsively, Legolas wrapped his arms around Aragorn's shoulders and held him near. They stayed liked this for many minutes, both secure in the other's arms. When weak light began to seep through the window, Aragorn told Legolas of his nightmares and the times that he had meant to see Lithdal's ghost. Legolas had no explanation, but he thought that it had been Aragorn's guilty conscience that had conjured up the apparition. Maybe now, after Aragorn had told him of his misplaced guilt, the nightmares would end. Not soon after, Aragorn fell into a deep slumber, his strength sapped by their love play and the confession of his feelings.

It was almost noon when he climbed out of bed, washed, dressed and began his day. When he had woken, the bed had been empty; Legolas had gotten up hours ago. Revived by his long rest and the burden that had been lifted from his shoulders, Aragorn pushed open the door to the main room. And stopped in his tracks in wonder!

"What….what is _this_?" He asked nonplussed, a confused smile on his lips.

In front of him, the room had been decorated with colorful banners, sweet smelling herbs and numerous candles to staff of the gloom of the day. Dried leaves and nuts decorated the table, on which plates and cups had been placed. The smell of freshly baked bread filled the air, combined with herbs, butter and honey. His brothers sat in front of the hearth, huge grins on their faces, while Legolas sat at the table with a package in hand that he quickly hid behind his back when Aragorn entered the room.

"What does it look like, little brother?" Elladan said and got up from his seated position. He exchanged a smile with his twin, who climbed to his feet and winked at Aragorn.

"I don't know." Aragorn tilted his head to the side and glanced at the room. It did remind him of the feast they had held the night before, but for the life of him, he had no idea what his brothers and friend had planned.

Getting to his feet as well, Legolas moved to stand beside Aragorn. "It is a birthday celebration, Estel. To be precise, _your_ birthday celebration."

"My birthday…." Aragorn's eyes turned wide as he stared at the banners, candles and food. He smiled in delight, but shook his head at the same moment, "But my birthday was weeks ago. You really should not have bothered to do this. All the time it must have taken you to get these things, and the food! Did you _bake_ all this?" He gestured at the fresh bread, scones and some honey rolls.

"It was my wish to do this, and your brothers helped me." Legolas took Aragorn's hand and directed the man's attention towards him. "We never had the chance to celebrate your last birthday, Estel, and I always felt sorry for that. And this year, I thought that we could celebrate together, and again my plans were thwarted." He smiled sadly, for a moment lost in memory. "But last night, I decided that you should have a proper celebration, even if your birthday was weeks ago. This is a special day, Estel, for it was the day that you entered this life, and I will cherish that day forever, for without it, I would never have met you and never have gotten the chance to love you." He pressed his lips against Aragorn's in a sweet kiss, his hands cupping the young man's face. When they broke apart long moments later, Legolas smiled at him with loving eyes, "Happy birthday, love."

Aragorn blushed to the tips of his ears, but his wide smile bathed the room in a happy glow. "Again, thank you."

"Now, are you two finished with whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears?" Elladan called from his position by the hearth, rolling his eyes good naturedly.

"As if their reunion this night had not been enough." Elrohir quipped, causing Aragorn to turn bright red. Until now, he had not spent one thought on the fact that his brothers had slept in the same house and might have heard him and Legolas the other night. Still, he could not wipe a stupid grin from his face.

"Ow, stop behaving as foolish hobbits!" Legolas laughed, pushing Aragorn towards a stool at the table. "Sit down, Estel. Do you want some tea? We also have apple juice and fresh milk. And here, try some of the honey rolls, they are still warm." Aragorn did as he was bid, and Legolas was right. The honey rolls were still warm, and coated with fresh butter, they were the best thing that Aragorn had eaten in weeks. He was halfway through his third honey roll, when the twins quickly vanished outside, only to return a minute later, carrying a large package in their arms.

"What would a birthday be without presents?" Elrohir placed the package on the table in front of Aragorn, tapping it lightly with his fingers. "We gave our present to Legolas when we left for the Grey Havens, but I am glad that we can give it to you personally now. We have long pondered what we could give you, and I think we have found the perfect gift. Come on, open it!"

Aragorn peeled away the white cloth in which the present was wrapped, and when he beheld the item within, his eyes widened in surprise, "You didn't!"

"I hoped that you would like it." Elrohir grinned from ear to ear. "It took months to make it, and I feared that it would not be finished in time, but..here you are! Happy birthday, little brother." He engulfed Aragorn in a hug, who returned the sentiment eagerly. A moment later, Aragorn wrapped his long arms around Elladan, squeezing him, too.

"Oh brothers, you really shouldn't have, but thank you!"

"What is it?" Stretching across the table, Legolas gazed at the present. To him it looked quite ordinary. Smiling, Aragorn reverently moved his fingers across his present. "It is a book, Legolas." The Prince just lifted an eyebrow in amusement; he had surmised that at least.

"But not just any book." Aragorn quickly continued. "This is the complete history of Arda, from the days when the Valar heard the first songs, to the day that the copyist wrote the last word. Its contents span over more than two thousand years." Now it was Legolas who's eyes widened; that was truly a magnificent present!

"Open it, Estel, to the last pages." Elrohir urged, his eyes twinkling. Aragorn did as he was told, and he frowned in confusion as he beheld the pages. "But they are empty!"

"Aye." Elladan touched the leather-bound book with his forefinger, "We thought that it is time for you to add your own history to the ones already laid down in the book. The last pages are for you to fill."

"Oh, that is marvelous. Thank you." Aragorn hugged his brothers tightly once more, touched by their consideration and thoughtfulness. "I will do you proud, brothers."

"I know you will, Estel. Your history added to this book will one day make it invaluable, you will see." Elladan said, smiling.

Then it was Legolas' turn to present his gift. He vanished for a moment in the adjoining bedroom, and then returned with a long and thin object in his hands, which was swathed in thick cloth. Upon seeing it, Aragorn's eyes widened and the twins exchanged a knowing grin. Stepping up to Aragorn, Legolas held his present in his outstretched hands.

"Estel, I have long pondered what to give you. I wanted to present you with something you could carry without wherever you go, so that it may remind you of me. But as a ranger, you don't wear any trinkets, besides Barahir, of course. And also, I did not want to burden you with something heavy or unserviceable. I know that when you are on patrol, you travel light. But I think that, in the end, I found the perfect gift. I made it myself, with a bit of help of our weapons master. I hope you like it, Estel." Reaching out, Legolas pressed the object into Aragorn's hands.

Slowly, the young man unwrapped the present. Moments later, he held a splendid longbow in his hands. The bow was made of dark wood and polished so that it shone in the candlelight. The fine but strong cord wound around the upper tip, and when Aragorn let his fingers caress along the wood, he found that along the top and bottom tip, fine elvish engravings adorned the bow. And in the middle, where the arrow would come to rest, the bow was strengthened by a silver plate in the form of a leaf. Smiling, Aragorn let his fingers touch the silver leaf.

"Legolas…this is a magnificent gift! I…I don't know what to say. It must have taken you weeks to make it."

"Four weeks, to be precise." Legolas bowed his head and smiled, "But it was worth it. The bow is strong and will suit you well." His eyes darkened somewhat, "Although I hate the thought that you have the need of a bow to protect yourself against gruesome foes, at least now I know that you have a strong friend at your side who will serve you well."

Their eyes met, and there was no more need for words; in Legolas' blue orbs Aragorn saw worry and love in equal parts, and he held the bow tightly. He knew that Legolas loved him, and if carrying this bow with him meant that Legolas could sleep more peacefully, knowing him well protected, then Aragorn would gladly carry the bow till the end of his days. "Thank you, Legolas."

"It was my pleasure, my friend."

*****

Late that night, when the Dunedain had long doused their candles and gone to bed, Aragorn and Legolas sat on the porch of Aragorn's house, enjoying the quiet of the night. It had rained much that day, but now the clouds had moved on, and the dark sky sparkled with tiny silver diamonds.

Sitting on the wooden railing, with his chin resting on his drawn up knees, Legolas gazed out into the darkness, musing about the last few weeks. Close to him, reclining in a chair and wrapped in a thick blanket to staff off the cold, Aragorn watched his friend. They had laughed much that day and enjoyed their time together. For the first time in weeks, Aragorn had found that he had not thought of Lithdal for many hours. When a small smile lifted up the Prince's lips, Aragorn gently prodded the railing with his boot. "A coin for your thought, my Prince."

Turning his head, Legolas smiled at his young lover, "I was thinking of the future, Estel."

"The future?" Aragorn raised an eyebrow, "and what do you see?"

Legolas' lips widened to a brilliant smile, "Us. I see us, Estel."

The end.


End file.
